Jericho
by scarlet79
Summary: An AU version of what happened when the Family met Negan. After being taken captive by Negan, Daryl gets put on protection detail for a woman who Negan has chosen to be one of his wives. She refuses and begs for Daryl's help to escape. Started this just after the cliffhanger season 6 finale, when we didn't know who got Lucille'd. Daryl/OC, Glaggie, Richonne and Carl/Enid pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Okay so I began this story right after the season 6 finale, before we knew who Negan killed. I also tried to stay somewhat close to canon (but with Glenn still alive) but there may be some parts where I messed up. It does feature an OC, and eventually becomes a Daryl/OC fic, but not until much later. Literally just finished writing this one and started working on book 2 yesterday. This is my first TWD story, so...go easy on me LOL!_

* * *

ONE

* * *

There was blood everywhere.

Splattered on his face, on the ground, on his hands.

Pouring from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Pounding in his ears.

He could barely hear Rick shouting over the rushing sound, could only watch Maggie's pale lips moving as she cursed the man with the bat.

Lucille.

It reminded him of I Love Lucy, and her bright red hair.

Red, like the blood pooling at his knees.

Like Abraham's hair.

Daryl peered through pain hazed eyes at the large body lying prone on the ground, at the left arm that had been torn open by Lucille's barbed wire, whatever muscle that remained trembling in Abraham's superhuman attempt to push himself off the ground and back up to his knees. Part of Daryl cheered for the man, begged him silently to get up, while another part wished he would stay down. Pretend you're dead, or at least so badly injured you can't get up.

Stop the torture.

But it wouldn't stop, and he knew it.

Abraham knew it, too. He could see it in the man's steel-blue eyes, in the way he moved his head in a slight nod that told Daryl everything he needed to know.

He was ready.

Well, maybe Abe was, but Daryl sure wasn't.

"I can't believe it!" Negan crowed, swinging Lucille so that a fine mist of blood spattered Daryl and the others to his right. "This shit bag won't give up!"

Daryl looked at Rick, whose bright blue eyes were the size of dinner plates. Shock, anger, fear...those were what Daryl could see, but he would wager there were at least a dozen more emotions being pulled along in the current. _Good_ , he thought; _stay hot, Rick. It'll keep you sharp._

He looked to Carl next. The kid was dealing pretty well; he was scared, but he was more afraid of letting Negan see that fear and so he simply scowled at the ground, his good eye squinted against the smoke of the bonfire nearby. Daryl wished to God the kid had stayed home; from his count there was no one left in Alexandria to stand watch except for Morgan, Carol and Enid, and she was just a kid herself. Oh, and the preacher. Still, not nearly enough if Negan's men decided to start taking the "cut" he'd spoken of a few minutes ago.

He felt eyes boring into him and carefully turned to see Glenn staring at him. He knew what the look meant: _We need to do something. Quick._

Not _you_ need to do something.

We.

Us.

Together.

Daryl blinked twice ( _message received_ ), then carefully tested his shoulder. The bullet wound burned, but he could work past it. He had to.

He knew Negan wouldn't stop with Abraham. His blood lust had only begun to pique, but worse, his desire for revenge was far from being sated. Daryl couldn't watch anyone else suffer at the end of that bat. Especially the kid.

Anger seethed in his chest as he glared at Negan's boots, shiny with Abe's blood. These people had taken so much already. They'd hurt people - his friends; they'd killed Denise, and now Abe. Maggie seemed on the verge of losing her baby and if she didn't get help soon she might die as well. They'd shot him, too, though he was more upset at himself for falling into their trap than actually being shot.

"Why..." Negan brought the bat down on Abe's back, "...won't..." another hit to the back, "...you..." a crack to the ribs, "...die?"

He chopped Lucille through the air like an axe, bringing it down on Abe's left thigh. There was a sickening crack and Abe gurgle-grunted as the femur splintered. Negan wound up, prepared to strike Abraham's head again, but a mutter from the battered man made him stop. He cocked an eyebrow, then with a grin he dropped his arm and took a step forward.

"Did...Did I just hear you speak?" He looked around at the rest of his men, then the group kneeling before him. "This just keeps getting better, don't it, folks?"

Daryl held his breath, and for a moment all he heard was the wheezing of the fallen man, the rattle-whistle that denoted broken ribs, punctured lungs and a blood-filled chest cavity. Abe wasn't coming out of this, he knew then.

Negan dug Lucille's wide end into the dust at his feet and leaned on the knob. "You did, didn't ya?"

With great effort, Abraham turned his head to the side, his exhale kicking up a small bit of dust, and Daryl hid a smile as the image of an angry bull, snorting and pawing at the ground, popped into his mind. It was wiped away, however, when a fresh bright red gush of blood spewed from between the large man's teeth and seeped into the dirt. His eyes swollen almost shut, face bruised from the assault he'd suffered, Abe coughed again, scowled and ground out, "I said...See you...in hell."

Then, the impossible happened.

Abe smiled.

It was gruesome; his face was a bloody mess and some of his teeth had been knocked out, but even as mangled as he was he managed to put on the widest grin.

Abe's teeth parted as he drew in a labored breath, and then he added, "Pussy."

And then his eyes closed all the way and his head fell to the side, and that was it. Daryl couldn't see him breathing.

Beside him, Maggie sobbed behind her hand, her weakened body rocking slightly on her knees. He would reach out and steady her, but he refused to chance Negan's anger, so he settled for a gentle glance. He met Glenn's eyes again, and this time sent him a scarce nod.

This asshole - him and the rest of his filthy band of shit-eaters - they had to pay for this.

For shooting him.

For hurting Maggie.

For Denise, and now Abraham.

Too many.

They'd done too much wrong to get away scot-free.

Their plan, well, as much as he'd come up with, was dangerous and not at all likely to work, but there was no stopping now. They couldn't work for Negan, become like all these other murderers out here, stealing and who knew what else.

No.

He'd die before then.

Daryl looked at Rick. His blue eyes were still wide open, his body trembling though not with fear but rage - or at least that's what Daryl was hoping for. Of course there had to be some fear - his kid was kneeling a short distance away, after all, and Negan _had_ threatened to cut out his other eye not too long ago...had it only been ten minutes? It seemed longer.

He caught the former cop's gaze and was unsurprised to see that his expression mirrored Daryl's own. He was ready, Daryl knew then, and where Rick went his kid went, too. Waiting until Negan had stalked to the end of the semicircle, where Carl sat scowling, Daryl looked at Michonne. Barely moving his lips, he said, "We're goin' fer it."

She continued to stare straight ahead, and for a moment Daryl wondered if she'd even heard. But then, as she exhaled the deep breath she'd been holding, she replied, "I'm in."

"It's suicide," he warned, and she slipped out the barest of nods.

"I know," she whispered.

He sat back on his heels, assured that at least five of the group were ready to make their stand, doomed as it was to fail. His shoulder burned, the bullet wound feeling as fresh as when it had been inflicted, though at least it had stopped bleeding. Maggie was completely out of commission; she could barely hold herself upright, much less fight against that bat. If she so much as took a graze from Lucille it would be all over for her, and if she went Glenn would be next, for sure.

Daryl tucked his hand in his pocket and felt the keychain there, its embossed surface like a touchstone in his fingers.

DENNIS

He closed his eyes as the memory of Denise's death came rushing back to him. She was speaking, chiding him for being afraid, and then suddenly there was a crossbow bolt - one of his own, dammit - sticking out of her eye. She got a confused look on her face, as if she knew something was wrong but not what that something was, and then she collapsed. He'd caught her in his arms, felt her limbs go slack, her breath stop, and even before that prick came out of the woods he'd known who had done it. And now, here they were again, on their knees in the dirt with these same assholes pointing their own weapons at them.

Daryl chanced a look at the leader of these miscreants. Negan, with his dark hair and shit-eating grin...Daryl wondered what his story was, how he'd come to persuade all these people to follow him. Was it like he said, like he'd recruited the group from Alexandria? Intimidation and threats? Or had had promised them something? Wealth, food, protection?

Protection.

That was the most important thing these days. Walkers were everywhere now, even in the deepest parts of the wilderness. He'd seen them stumbling along an old ski trail a thousand feet up a mountain, unaware that the snow was slowly freezing whatever flesh was left on their feet and would soon turn them into crawlers.

An enigmatic personality only went so far, so what did Negan have that kept these men here? Daryl stared at Lucille and nodded in understanding. So, like Samson had his long hair, Negan has his Lucille. He watched carefully as their tormentor paced back toward his end of the group, swinging Lucille loosely. Maggie was coughing, her bangs plastered to her forehead, tears of fear and anger rolling down her flushed face.

"How 'bout it, darlin'?" Negan asked her, resting the bat across his thighs and bending to stare into her eyes.

Shaking, she jerked her head up and met his eyes, and Daryl rejoiced to see that the fire he knew she carried inside had not yet died out. "How...bout...what?" She forced out, tired and in pain but far from giving up. "How...bout...you bite me."

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. That was his Maggie.

Negan swung Lucille out and put her end under Maggie's chin. Frowning deeply, he replied, "Not a good idea to piss me off, sweetie. I don't wanna hit a sick woman, 'specially one's knocked up, but I will if I have to."

"You'd have to kill me first," Glenn ground out. As Negan spun around Maggie sent her husband a look of such love and sadness that Daryl was nearly forced to look away.

"Is that right?" Negan chuckled. "And just who the hell are you? Jackie Chan?"

Glenn simply glared at the man, and as Daryl watched, something - the universe, reality, maybe even time - shifted. Where once only super-ego had lived, Negan's eyes now held a hint of fear. These people - the Alexandrians - were not afraid of him. His tactics of intimidation, of bullying, would no longer work on them. Maybe it took Abe's death to kick things in gear, or maybe it had started rolling even before that; whichever, the realization that Negan was just a big kid with a big stick had dawned upon them all, as had the consequent fact that he would not stop using that stick until they were all dead.

Negan must have felt the shift as well, and so to try one last time to assert his authority he wound up and prepared to swing at Glenn's face. But before he could begin, Rick shouted "Now!" and ten of the people kneeling in the dust suddenly sprang up and piled on top of him. Daryl had grabbed the arm holding Lucille on the way down, and as their combined weight crushed the air from Negan's lungs his hand released its grip on the bat. As expected, Negan's men moved in and began dragging them off their leader, roughly shoving them back into the semi-circle. Negan coughed and choked, spitting leaves and dirt from his mouth as he struggled to his feet.

Catching his breath at last, he glowered at the group. "Well," he rasped. "That was cute. Now, I'm definitely gonna..."

"Hey, asshole," Daryl said then, stepping into the firelight with Lucille in his hands. "Shut up."

With that, he swung and hit Negan across the knees, and the man's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.

"Ya kill our friends, ya take our weapons..." He struck Negan on the side twice, the sound of bone snapping like a dry twig barely audible above his voice. "Ya take ev'rythin' away from us..." A crack to Negan's back made him grunt in pain, "And ya think we're gonna join ya?"

Negan's men started to move toward Daryl, but he menaced them with Lucille and they stepped back. He glanced at Rick and they shared a look of surprise. They - Negan's men - had weapons more powerful than a baseball bat; guns, knives, even Daryl's crossbow were all clutched nervously in their hands, yet never leveled at the small group of survivors now that he carried Lucille.

Negan managed to get to his hands and knees, his right arm cradling his torso as his broken ribs protested every move. "Boy," he chuckle-coughed, "you think you're gonna win? That you'll walk outta here?"

Daryl shrugged. "Weren't sure we'd get this far. But now we know what ya are, yeah. We're leavin'."

"Like hell..." Negan scrambled toward Daryl, reaching for Lucille, but Daryl had anticipated that and simply stepped aside and swiped Negan's legs out from under him once more.

"Rick, help Glenn git Maggie to that car there," Daryl said, pointing to one car in a cluster of various vehicles a few dozen yards away. To one of Negan's men, he said, "Give em the keys."

The man's eyes grew wide and he stared down at Negan, who was now lying face-up, trying to get air back in his lungs. "Boss," he began, but before Negan could reply Daryl put his foot on his throat and only lightly pressed down.

"Give. Em. The. Keys," he repeated. "Or the next thing ya see is his eyeballs pop outta his face."

The man nodded and retrieved the car keys from a lock box, then held them out as if they were covered in poison and he couldn't wait to get rid of them. Glenn cautiously stood up and took them, and then he and Rick knelt down and wrapped their arms around Maggie's fever-ridden body.

"Ready?" Rick asked her, and she nodded weakly. "We're gonna go get you help."

Together, he and Glenn carried her to a black car with one broken window. Daryl watched as they loaded her into the back seat, and then he called out, "Carl!"

The kid turned to look at him, and Daryl could tell he was torn between wanting to go with Rick and staying behind with the others. He appreciated that; the kid was brave and loyal and that was something Daryl needed right now. But he also needed the kid to stay safe, not just for Rick but for the future of Alexandria.

"Go with your dad," he said, and the kid hesitated only a few moments before nodding and sprinting toward the car.

"We'll meet you at Hilltop," Rick told him as Carl slid into the back seat.

Daryl nodded. "Take care of 'er."

Rick got into the driver's seat and started the car, and after he and Glenn held a short conference he put it in gear and drove away. Only when they were out of sight did Daryl turn back to Negan and snarl, "Give us back our RV. And all our weapons."

Negan grunted, but with Daryl's foot on his throat he could barely breathe, much less speak. Hesitantly, Daryl removed his booted foot from the man's neck and leaned on Lucille.

"Whassat?" He asked.

Negan coughed on the lungful of smoke-tinged air, then choked and spat out a small puddle of pink, foamy saliva. There was a small sound coming from him, and for a moment Daryl thought he was crying - only for a moment, though. Turned out he was laughing - chuckling at first, but then it became a full belly laugh which must have hurt with the three broken ribs Daryl had given him.

"This is fun, ain't it?" Negan asked when he'd stopped laughing. "Bet you think you're real cute. That you got the upper hand, as they say?"

"I'm the one with the bat," Daryl growled. "Yer guys wanted, they coulda taken it by now."

"I don't think you get how this works," Negan spat as he pushed himself to his knees. Daryl only let him because he wasn't a brutal asshole and wanted to prove the difference between himself and Negan, but he did watch him carefully to make sure he didn't hide a weapon while he was getting up. "All your shit belongs to me. Your weapons, your food, your _women_..."

"That so?" The hunter carefully rolled his shoulder, feeling the bullet wound burn again and shot a hateful look at Dwight. He looked down at Lucille dangling from his fist, blood dripping off the end. "What's yer deal, man? Why ya go 'round killin' people? People's just tryin' ta survive."

"Because people are stupid," Negan told him. "Things like this happen, they lose their minds and make bullshit choices. Like your boss man, Rick."

"Rick ain't stupid," Daryl told him, his eyes narrowing, and Negan held his ribs as he barked out a laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to step on your man-crush, there."

Daryl swung Lucille up and pointed at the other man. "Watch yer mouth, asshole."

"Like I was saying, Rick's made some mistakes. He needs to learn some humility, some manners. Like that you can't just go around killing my men and not expect justice."

"Wasn't just Rick."

Negan eyed him as he tried to catch his meaning, and when he finally understood he nodded. "I can see it," he said. "Unlike your leader, you, my friend, are a hardass."

"Ain't yer friend," Daryl spat.

Negan rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. Calm yer tits, Katniss." A ripple of laughter ran through the rest of the Saviors, but Negan held up his hand to quiet them. "Anyway, your little show here was cute, and I sincerely hope you're happy..."

"Long's Maggie gets help, I am."

"But unfortunately, it's only served to raise the cost for your friends. Two-thirds, instead of half, and I kill everyone else here."

The hunter shook his head, ignoring his throbbing shoulder. Scowling, he replied, "Ya get nothin', and we leave."

Negan looked at the rest of his captives. Rosita, Sasha, Aaron, and Michonne all stood nervously between the two men, their eyes carefully avoiding the battered mess that was Abraham lying prone near the bonfire. He pondered the shift he had seen in each of them, how afraid they had all looked a short time ago compared to now. Oh, they were still afraid - he could see it in their eyes - but they were also confident in the man holding his Lucille hostage. They were so sure he would get them out of here. Negan wondered how many times it had come down to Daryl to save the day, for them to trust him so fully.

He looked at his men next. Even Simon, his right hand man, Daryl to his Rick, was frozen in place. Negan felt anger boil hot inside his chest. After everything he had done, all his lessons and leadership, his Saviors looked a moment away from pissing themselves like little girls. This was simply unacceptable. He needed to remedy this as soon as possible, swiftly and brutally so no one would forget.

No one would dare forget that he was Negan, leader of the Saviors.

"I don't think so," he replied at last. Gesturing with a hand over his head, he gave a shrill whistle. Dwight stepped forward, lifting Daryl's crossbow so that it was aimed at Aaron's head. Simon held a gun on Michonne, and two others came and aimed their weapons at Sasha and Rosita. "Looks like you're outnumbered here."

Still holding Lucille up as if he would swing, Daryl looked into Aaron's eyes, torn. He could maybe try to take Negan out again, but his men would surely retaliate for it. Especially Dwight, that boot-licking asshole. And there was no way he could attack everyone holding a weapon on his family, either.

Aaron only slightly moved his head downward, and Daryl took a step back to put space between himself and Negan.

"Don't," he said then, looking Negan straight in the face. "Don't hurt them."

"Well, see now, Daryl, there are rules..."

"They're good people, don't have nothin' ta do with this." He dropped the bat at his own feet, then held up his hands. "You let 'em go, an' I'll go with ya."

"Go with me?" Negan said, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Boy, I'm gonna kill ya!"

Daryl tossed his hair out of his face. "Go 'head. After I'm sure they're safe, you do whatever ya want ta me."

"Daryl!" Rosita cried, but he held out a hand to quiet her, and Aaron came to put his arm around her, muttering something softly in her ear.

The Saviors murmured among themselves, confident that their leader would refuse. He had not become the man he was by negotiating with anyone, least of all someone who had wronged him so grievously. But when they looked to Negan and saw that he was considering Daryl's offer, they were confused. Surely he was playing along, making Daryl think they had a deal at least until Lucille was back in his hands, and then all bets were off?

"You would do that?" Negan asked. Daryl nodded. "Why?"

"My family," Daryl replied. "Can't let 'em get hurt, just 'cuz o' some asshole."

Everyone held their breath as the two men stared each other down, unsure of what would happen next but expecting the worst. So, when Negan suddenly laughed and then shook his head, they traded uneasy glances, confused by his reaction.

"I like you, Daryl," Negan said then. "You've got balls. I could use someone like you."

Daryl felt another insult on the tip of his tongue, but he forced it back down and remained silent. He couldn't afford for Negan to change his mind right now, so he had to behave.

"Y'know what? I think we've all learned something tonight. Haven't we?"

Simon and his men nodded their heads. Reluctantly, so did Aaron and the others.

"We've learned that Rick got lucky, becoming the leader of your little group. I think we can all tell who the real head honcho should be," Negan said, pointing at Daryl with a gloved hand. "And you've learned that I can be a reasonable guy, which is why I'm gonna agree to your terms."

He turned to the Saviors and raised his voice to ensure everyone heard him. "Let's load up!"

Slowly, still confused, the men herded Aaron and the ladies toward the waiting vehicles. Daryl moved to get into a car with Sasha and Michonne, but Negan shook his head and said, "You ride with me. Right up front."

Daryl got in the passenger seat of Negan's car, but no matter how slowly he reached his arm out to close the door, his shoulder protested each move. Dwight happened to be standing there, as he was ensuring that all of Daryl's people had been loaded into two cars, and when he saw Daryl struggling to shut the door he stepped forward and shut it for him. Ducking his head into the open window, he smiled genially, which made the gruesome burns on the side of his face wrinkle even further.

"Ya'll have been blessed," he told Daryl. "Ain't every day an enemy is shown Negan's mercy."

"Get this caravan movin', D," Negan ordered then, and Dwight nodded.

"Sure thing, boss," he said as he stood back up.

Dwight lifted his hand and made a circle over his head, and all at once the engine of each car and truck parked around the bonfire roared to life. He ducked behind the wheel of the closest car, a brown sedan with its rear windshield boarded up, and steered it into the line of vehicles. His car passed Negan's, and Daryl couldn't resist flipping him the bird.

This whole thing was because of Dwight. Daryl should have killed him when they first met, but no, he had to get all sappy and try to help him, all because one of the girls he was with was diabetic. And what thanks did Daryl get for helping? He got his crossbow stolen, that's what. And his bike, and his vest, too. Those were later on, but still. They probably wouldn't be in this situation if he had just shot the bastard in the head like he had wanted to.

The caravan finally stopped a few miles down the road, more than halfway to Alexandria. Negan got out of the car and stood in front of the first car, and Daryl breathed a sigh of relief. The entire way here he had tried to convince Daryl to become a Savior, and Daryl's tongue was beginning to hurt from biting it so much.

"Come on out, the four of ya," Negan said, and four car doors opened to let Daryl's friends out onto the road.

Rosita and Aaron were the first two out, but Sasha and Michonne weren't far behind them. They followed Negan's orders to walk to him, then stood behind him, two on the left and two on the right.

"Someone let Daryl out, so he can see this," Negan called to his men, and of course Dwight was the one to come over and open Daryl's door.

"Make it good," Dwight murmured to him, and he frowned.

"What?"

"Your goodbye. Gonna be the last time you see 'em."

"Fuck you," Daryl growled.

Negan grinned, but then said, "D, leave my boy alone, would ya? Got a few goodbye hugs to give out, here." Looking to Daryl, he said, "C'mon, then. They're waitin' on ya."

Daryl stayed where he was, beside the car he had ridden in. With a hard look on his face, he nodded first to Aaron, then each of the women. Tears had sprung to everyone's eyes, but they returned his nod one at a time, each understanding why he chose not to do as Negan suggested and hug them. He would say goodbye to them on his terms, no one else's, and this was Daryl's way.

"Tell Rick and Maggie for me," he finally said.

"We will," Aaron replied.

And then Daryl got back into the car, his eyes trained on Negan as if daring him not to keep his end of the bargain.

"Okay, folks," Negan said with a smirk at Daryl. "Our home awaits. Let's get the fuck outta here."

As soon as the others were out of weapons range, Negan stepped close to Daryl and whispered in his ear. "Y'know, if I didn't respect the shit outta you, I woulda tapped all three of those asses, and made ya watch."

That statement finally broke Daryl's stoic exterior and his rage came pouring out, like molten lava. Grabbing Negan by the lapels of his leather jacket, he tried to throw him against the hood of the car.

"Sick fuck!" Daryl roared in his face. "I'd kill ya first!"

The rest of the Saviors rushed over and pulled him off their leader, and before he could prepare himself someone punched him in the ribs and he fell to the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs. A foot caught him in the same place a few seconds later, and his vision swam. Fists and boots rained down on his body, his breath coming in grunts whenever he could catch it, and then the world tilted and went black.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

* * *

Daryl opened his eyes and groaned. The light hurt his head, his brain pounding like a hammer on an anvil, so he shut them again and threw his arm over his face, cursing under his breath when his shoulder throbbed in protest. His whole body felt sore, and lying on a cement floor sure wasn't helping that. While he didn't particularly recall getting here, in what he was pretty sure was a prison cell, he _did_ remember the events that led up to it. Anger boiled in his chest as the memory played out behind his eyes.

He had failed to kill Negan.

And he had failed to escape. Maybe it was the blood loss from his gunshot wound, or maybe he had just lost his will to fight, but either way after he made sure Negan truly let his friends go, he had tried once again to rush the leader of the Saviors, and he had failed.

That's basically what it boiled down to, and it was unacceptable. He needed justice. Vengeance.

For Abraham.

For Denise.

But it all had been ripped away from him, and now here he lay on a filthy cement floor with every muscle aching, hoping to God that Rick and Maggie had made it to Hilltop, and that Aaron and Michonne and the others were safe in Alexandria.

Sighing, he slowly worked his way to a sitting position, draping his arms over his knees. His time would surely come again; he just needed to be patient. That was harder for Daryl than most, it seemed. He was not one to sit around and wait for something to happen. Sitting around made you soft, kept you off your guard, and that's when you got killed.

But he had to be careful if he wanted to get out of here and meet up with the others. Negan's men were ruthless, and Negan himself was calculating. He could tell when someone was planning something, could almost see it play out within his own mind. His punishments were swift and brutal, usually involving Lucille. Daryl had seen what that thing could do, and while it didn't scare him because he was ready to die as long as he took the motherfucker with him, it would be better if he avoided getting hit with it.

Men came for him a while later, and by then the pain in his head had died down to a dull roar. He was brought out to a small yard, where Negan made the obligatory threats that basically came down to "Work for me, or else," and threatened to smash him in the face with Lucille. Daryl refused to flinch, however, which impressed the bastard. He let him live, though he had his men take their aggression out on Daryl before they dragged him back to his cell, which of course aggravated his bullet wound. _Compliments of Dwight_ , Daryl snarled internally. When he got out of here he was gonna beat the piss out of that asshole and then shoot him. In the face.

As they passed by the first cell in the row of metal boxes, he could hear someone banging on the door, the sound echoing through the hall as if someone had clapped a pair of steel pans together.

"Let me out," a woman's voice angrily shouted from the other side. "Please!"

"Shut up," one of Negan's men told her, "or we'll make you."

There was another thud, lower toward the floor, and he guessed that she had kicked the door this time. "Try it and see what your _boss_ does to you," she replied, venom dripping from every word.

Daryl pretended not to hear, eyes forward, but inside he felt like screaming. He understood her frustration all too well. He also wanted so badly to fight, to escape, but he had to wait until the time was right. He let them dump him in his cell on his hands and knees, watched as they locked the door with a scowl on his bloodied face. Only when the main door latched behind them did he push himself up to sit on the floor, his legs straight out in front of him. He heard shuffling from the cell beside his, and then the same woman's voice softly asked, "Hello? Are you there?"

Daryl looked at the solid wall between them and though she couldn't see him he nodded. "Yeah. 'M here."

"You from Alexandria?"

"Maybe," he said warily. "How you know 'bout it?"

"Well, for one, your group is pretty well-known."

 _Was that right?_ He wondered silently. They had been around this whole region for a few years, and they'd come across more than a handful of people - good and bad. Still, he had a hard time believing word had traveled that fast, and anyway he didn't like being "famous". Too much attention.

"And two, I heard 'em talking last night when they brought you in. Sorry about your friend."

Daryl frowned as he felt tears pricking at his eyelids. He had no time to mourn Abe right now. His body hurt from the beating, and his mind needed to focus on figuring out a way to escape. "Why're you in here?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Won't agree to be one of his wives." He heard her scoff. "Told him he should just kill me and be done with it, but he seems to think I'll change my mind after being in here a while."

Daryl simply replied, "Hmm."

"I'm Ava, by the way."

"Daryl."

"Well, Daryl. You should get some sleep. There's a lot of work to do tomorrow, and Negan likes to start bright and early."

He looked again at the wall between the cells and tried to place her voice. He remembered seeing a woman being dragged from the main building earlier, "escorted" by two of Negan's men, and he figured that must have been her. The single glance he got of her had been quick, but as he was used to paying attention to details it had been enough. Wavy chestnut hair hung past the middle of her back, and her green t-shirt sported a few holes and stains, as did her stone-washed jeans. She was at least six inches shorter than he, thin but not unhealthily so. Picturing her standing there on the other side of the wall, her palms flat against the metal, he could see why Negan wanted her. She was pretty, and she seemed feisty. She still had muscle on her, too, and that was important these days. He found himself wondering if she could shoot, if she had killed anything or anyone in her life, but then he shook his head. He couldn't take another person with him; she could slow him down, especially if she couldn't fight. With his body in the shape it was right now, if they came across walkers he wouldn't be able to watch both her back and his own. He could barely lift his arm without wanting to whimper like a baby. How could he possibly break both of them out of here?

 _But you will,_ he heard Carol's voice say in his head. _You can't leave a good person behind._

"Shut up," he said, not realizing he'd said it aloud until Ava's voice answered him.

"Sorry."

He rolled his eyes and smothered a curse. "Not you."

"Oh." More rustling, then her breath exhaled in a sigh. He guessed that she had laid down, covered herself with some kind of blanket. His eyes heavy, he also got comfortable as best he could. The air in the cell was cold, but he was used to sleeping outside with nothing to cover himself. If he got too cold, he could always take off his vest and lay it over his chest and arms.

 _Scratch that_ , he thought as he looked down and remembered that he wasn't wearing his vest. They had put him in this shitty sweatshirt and pants, the shirt painted with a yellow letter A.

"Was he a good man?" Ava quietly asked then. "Like you?"

His chest squeezed so hard it felt like he was drowning. _Of course he was!_ he wanted to shout. _He was good and Negan and that piece of shit Lucille took him away from us and I want to watch him die slowly._ But everything stayed locked inside, unable to erupt past the lump in his throat.

"Go t' sleep," he finally muttered at her, and then all was quiet.

* * *

She could fight, all right.

She was probably almost as good as Sasha.

A few days after their "meeting" in the cells, Daryl was in the courtyard unloading supplies ( _shit they stole,_ he corrected) from the back of a truck when he heard shouting. _More close to screaming,_ he thought. Dropping the crate he'd been holding on the ground, he immediately ran toward the sound. Skidding around the corner of the prison hut, he saw Ava standing there with a large gash in her head, bleeding heavily down the side of her face. To her credit, however, she had her hands up and ready, fingers curled into fists. Standing in front of her was one of Negan's men, a wicked smirk on his face. Daryl wanted to intervene right away, but something inside him told him to wait. Negan had to be close by, and though he wasn't afraid of the man he suddenly got the idea that this situation might afford him a way into the leader's good graces. Might be better to sit tight and see what happened, get his hands dirty only if he needed to.

And right now it didn't seem necessary, as Ava was holding her own. Her thumbs were curled outside her fists, and she was holding them close to her face, but not too close. Her eyes squinted in the bright sunlight as she carefully watched the man, and Daryl could almost see the wheels of her mind turning as she worked out his next move. Someone had taught her how to fight, Daryl figured then; a brother, maybe her dad?

"Ain't you cute," the man said with a laugh as he made a wide circle around her, like a predator stalking its next meal.

"Your boss thinks so," she replied saucily, despite the head wound.

"He's got good taste."

She scowled, and Daryl mimicked her expression. This asshole was ugly - missing one of his front teeth, balding on the top of his head, and fat to boot. He couldn't see how anyone could ever be attracted to him. Daryl wasn't a model by any stretch, either, but damn...

 _But that ain't the point,_ he told himself. It never was, with guys like him. With them, they did shit just cause they could. Rape, murder, stealing...it was all fair game and it was all the same to them. To the victor went the spoils.

"Leave me alone," he heard Ava say then, "or you'll regret it."

Daryl blew out a breath as he crept closer, hiding behind a four-wheeled ATV. There she was, bleeding like a stuck pig, and yet she still had the nerve to threaten the direct subordinate of a guy who beat people to death with a bat wrapped in barbed wire. He liked this woman, he decided then.

 _She's a firecracker._

"Sure I will," the man said, not sounding genuine at all. "When _I_ feel like it."

The man rushed forward to grab her then, but she sent a right jab into his face. He stumbled back a few steps but recovered quickly and caught hold of her waist. He dragged her to the ground and covered her with his body, struggling to pin her arms. She struck out with both hands, and though she hit him in the chest her blows were barely effective as not only was he at least eighty pounds heavier than she, but she was striking out in panic. Then, Daryl saw her take a breath and collect herself, taking stock of the situation. She was on the ground underneath the man's full weight, and while that was usually a huge problem, she could use the entire flat surface of the ground as a fulcrum and her body as a lever. She just had to distract him long enough to get herself into the optimal position.

The next time the guy leaned over her she gripped him around the neck, digging her thumbs into his windpipe and pushing hard. He soon began to cough and choke, his airway pinched to a minimum, and Ava saw her chance. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she made her body as rigid as possible and then used her hands around his throat to push his torso up and off of her. Throwing all her weight to one side, she was able to flip them over so that she was on top. She continued to choke him until his lips turned a slight shade of purple, indifferent to the blood running down over her eye, and then she suddenly released her grip and stood up.

Confident that she had won, she kicked him hard in the ribs and then turned away, but Daryl knew that was a huge mistake. He opened his mouth to shout at her, to warn her, but it was too late. Though he was still gasping and choking, the man reached up his hand and grabbed her ankle, tripping her so that she fell face-first onto the grass. The fall jarred her already-injured head, and she began to black out. Ava simply laid there, dazed, as her attacker grabbed the hips of her jeans and began trying to yank them down.

Daryl felt something inside snap then, and with a feral-sounding "Hey!" he jumped at the man and knocked him to the ground, falling on top of him so the air was knocked out of the man's lungs. Daryl began to land punches on his face, numb to the fact that the skin on his knuckles had busted open and started bleeding down his fingers. He suddenly wished that he had his knife, so he could carve the would-be rapist's eyeballs out and make him choke on them.

More men came running then, attracted by Daryl's shout. They pulled Daryl off the other man, dragging him backward across the rocky ground. Someone dug their fingers into the healing wound on his shoulder, nails tearing into the ragged pink skin, and he shouted in pain even as he continued to struggle against them. Though he had never actually met her and had only spoken to her once through the walls of their cells, he wanted - no, needed - to finish beating Ava's attacker to death. No one put their hands on a woman when he was around. Or heard about it. Carol's husband was lucky Shane had gotten to him first. If Daryl had been the one there when he'd hit her, Ed wouldn't have survived long enough to get bit. He wouldn't have taken another breath at that quarry.

"What in the blue hell is all the racket?" Negan's voice suddenly boomed over the noise. The men holding Daryl shoved him to his knees and then posed similarly on the ground, while two others reached for Ava. Afraid and in pain she shrank back, crying out and waving her hands wildly to fend them off.

"Leave 'er 'lone!" Daryl shouted at them.

They looked to Negan.

"Leave her there," Negan ordered, and so they shrugged and stepped over to their colleague, who was bleeding profusely from what seemed like everywhere - his nose, mouth, ears and even his eyeballs were shedding scarlet down his face. The men holding Daryl finally let go and he faked a move at the other man, who flinched and tucked his head against his shoulder. Satisfied that he had terrified the man, Daryl lifted a corner of his mouth in a sneer.

Negan laid Lucille against one shoulder and stepped up to Daryl, noticing the blood on his knuckles. Hell, it went all the way up to his elbows, and there were even drops of it on his face, caught in the scruff of his beard. Crouching to look into the hunter's eyes, he asked, "You care to inform me what's gone on here?"

Daryl turned his head a fraction of an inch to the side and spat on the ground, then lifted his face to glare into Negan's eyes. Too angry to dance around the situation, he decided basic terminology was the way to go. "Yer boy there smashed 'er head open, 's 'bout to rape 'er."

Negan blinked in surprise. Leaning his head back, he afforded himself a long glance around. He saw the gash in Ava's head as well as the way her shirt sleeve had been ripped down her arm. His "boy", as Daryl called him, was bleeding heavily enough to bring wolves from three states away.

"You do that to him?" He asked, and Daryl nodded. It wouldn't do Ava any good to tell Negan that she had caused a good amount of his wounds. Guys like him didn't want a woman who knew how to fight. Negan still held the traditional view that women were to be protected, not only from the dangers of the world but also from themselves. They should be getting their hands dirty in the kitchen, not in the arena or on the battlefield. But Daryl appreciated Ava's skills, as unrefined as they were; she had definitely proven to him that she could take care of herself, that he wouldn't have to babysit her.

"Well," Negan finally said, scratching at his beard with a thumbnail, "this is a fine mess, now isn't it?"

Daryl looked at Ava. Leaning against the rear wall of the prison, she was beginning to turn pale and slump to the side. It worried him but he dared not interrupt Negan. Insubordination was definitely an offense punishable by a beating, and he'd had enough of those, thank you very fucking much.

"I don't know how many times I gotta say it - I don't tolerate abusing women," the boss went on, tapping Lucille lightly against his shoulder. "It's despicable and unbecoming of Saviors. We are here to help, not to wreak damage."

Ava finally lost consciousness and slid all the way over onto her side, and Daryl could no longer contain his worry. Taking a chance, he pushed himself to his feet and ran over to her. Dropping to his knees, he put his fingers on her neck to search for a pulse. With every second that passed he expected to feel Lucille come down on his back, but it never came. Instead, his peripheral vision saw Negan step over and crouch beside him, Lucille balanced across his knees as he watching Daryl with what could only be described as genuine concern.

"Weak," he told Negan. "Lost a lot of blood."

Negan nodded. "Take her upstairs to the Doc. I'll come up when I've...handled business."

Though he was dying to see that "business" dealt out up close and in spite of his burning, re-injured bullet wound, Daryl wasted no time in scooping Ava up in his arms and heading for the factory-turned-house. Her head lolled back over his arm and he could feel her blood soak into his shirt and run down his forearm. His heart turned to lead. _Please,_ he silently begged, _don't die._

He repeated those words almost like a mantra as he quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor, then rushed down the hall to the room the Saviors had converted to an infirmary. The door was open only a crack, which usually meant Doc Carson had another patient, but Daryl refused to wait. Pausing less than a second, he used his foot to shove the door open all the way and strode into the room, his blue eyes searching for a place to lay Ava. He saw an empty bed near the windows and gently laid her on it.

Emmett Carson turned toward the interruption and then stood up, immediately noting the gash on Ava's head. His other patient, a woman who had injured her arm and was now sporting a fresh white bandage, wordlessly got up and left the room.

"What happened?" Carson asked Daryl as he came over to where Ava lay. "Who did this?"

Daryl shook his head. "Don't know 'is name. Negan's out there with 'em." He jerked his head toward the window, and they both glanced down at the courtyard where the boss was currently handling "things". "Said he'd be up later."

Doc Carson grimaced as a loud thump could be heard from below. It reminded Daryl of someone dropping a watermelon onto concrete. "I see. I'll do what I can. You staying to help?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. No way he was leaving her side until he was sure she would be okay.

"Good." The older man tipped his head toward a table near the door. "Then get that bucket of water over there, and let's see what we can do." He saw blood soaking through Daryl's shirt, sighed, and added, "And patch your back up, again."

* * *

Ava opened her eyes and gasped, her hands up and ready to fend off...who?

 _Where was she?_

The last thing she remembered, she was outside in the grass, bleeding and trying hard to stay conscious. Now she was in a drably painted room, on a hospital bed with the head raised and at least three pillows behind her. A lamp was on nearby, its soft glow little more than that of a nightlight.

She heard a soft sound, the rustle of rough cloth against worn leather, and then a voice said, "Hey."

She turned her head and saw him there, in a chair by her bedside. The man from Alexandria. What was his name again? Dan?

"Daryl," he said as if reading her mind, and she nodded.

"I remember. You saved me from..."

"Negan said 'is name's Benson."

She looked around wildly, as if just speaking his name could make him appear. "Is he...?"

He covered her hand with his own, his fingers warm and comforting as they gently curled over hers. "Dead. Can't hurt ya."

She stared down at the sheet over her waist, her eyes filling with tears. Daryl saw, and got up from his chair. Their hands still joined, he used his free hand to carefully tip her face up to look at him. The moonlight coming through the infirmary window was muted, but combined with the lamp's light it was enough to see his eyes even under his bangs. "Hey," he softly said. "Yer okay. He didn't...I didn't let him..."

Ava blinked, just watching his features. His hand didn't loosen around hers, and the way his jaw clenched told her he was still upset over the event that had landed her in here. Worry clear in his gaze, his eyes kept darting up to her forehead, and when she reached up to figure out why she felt the bandage there. Then he inhaled deeply and said, "I'll tell Doc you're up. Get you somethin' to eat."

He turned to leave but her fingers clenched around his, and he looked back at her. "Please," she whispered. "Don't leave me."

"Be right back. Promise." When she didn't let go, he added, "Just goin' next door."

Finally she released him and watched his back melt into the darkness. She heard the door open, and then all was silent. Ava tried to focus on the scent he had left behind, using it to ground her to the present, but no matter how hard she tried the terror of Benson's attack kept drawing her back. She knew the instant that bastard had surprised her and shoved her face into the wall of the prison that he meant to kill her. Oh, he was going to have fun with her first, but he was definitely planning on killing her. And in that same instant, she knew she had to fight as hard as she could. She had grown up with no one to count on, and when shit had hit the fan out here she found that nothing had changed except that even _more_ people were abusers, swindlers and thieves. There weren't many good people out here, and so she had to rely on herself.

But she had not anticipated how deep the cut on her head was, nor guessed that she would lose so much blood. It also didn't help that he had tripped her and made her fall flat on her face, jarring her brain even further. She remembered feeling his hands roughly grab her hips, and though she knew what he was about to do she had no strength to fight him. _It wouldn't be the first time..._ she thought, but then immediately shoved those memories away.

Ava remembered closing her eyes and waiting. Expecting to feel his hands roughly shove between her legs, to hear the sound of fabric tearing as he ripped off her clothes...but nothing happened. It wasn't until she heard punches landing on skin but felt no pain that she had opened her eyes to see a dark-haired stranger beating the ever-loving shit out of her attacker, his tanned and stubbled face bearing a scowl that told her he was ready to kill the man under him. She had used every bit of strength to sit up, and then Negan's men were reaching for her. They had stopped when she screamed and she sat against the prison wall, feeling so tired. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and she was sure she was dying.

Until she woke up here. Only then did she know for sure who the real savior was in this place.

True to his word, Daryl was back in a matter of moments, trailed by Carson who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. The doctor slowly brought the lights up in the room and swiped his stethoscope from a nearby table, then came to stand by her bedside. Daryl came around to the side he'd watched over her from and stood silently as Carson checked her over.

"Head hurt?" The doctor asked as he listened to her lungs.

Ava nodded. "Feel like I got run over by a truck."

"You lost a lot of blood. It's gonna take a while for you to feel like normal again." His gaze flickering up at Daryl, he said, "Good thing someone was looking out for you."

Blinking lazily, she nodded again.

But it was Negan's voice that said, "Sure was."

As Negan stepped into the room, Doc Carson finished with his exam and set the scope down on the same table. "Lungs sound good. No signs of infection, and other than that gash on your head you seem pretty healthy."

"Hear that?" Negan asked. "All patched up, so you can go home."

Carson gave him a pointed look. "Not to that dirty cell, she's not. She's sure to get an infection. And with the concussion she won't be of any use on work detail."

Negan spread his hands benevolently. "Well, then. What would you suggest, Doc? A penthouse suite?"

"A room, with a real bed," Emmett sighed. "She could stay here, but it's not as secure as you would like..."

"I..." Ava began, but Daryl covertly gripped her arm, silencing her. Now was not a time for the smart mouth he knew she had on her.

"That sounds peachy," Negan grinned. "And despite the fact that he doesn't know you from a hole in the ground, Daryl here seems to have some crazy desire to protect you. Truth is, I can't be everywhere at once, as evidenced by today. So, seeing as how he's proven himself capable to do so, he'll be your guard." His eyes shifted to the hunter. "Won't ya?"

Lifting a corner of his mouth in a smirk, Daryl said, "Sure."

Negan clapped, and the sound echoed through the sparse room. "Well, there ya go. Problem solved!"

"Fine," Carson agreed. "She can stay here until her blood volume is back to normal and her head has healed."

Negan smiled. "Perfect." Again he looked at Daryl, his eyes darkening. "Now, you should know I don't trust just anyone with my future wives. So, you take good care of her. I don't think I have to tell ya what happens if anything happens to her."

"Got it," Daryl rasped.

"And don't you dare go tryin' to have a taste, either. I don't share what's mine."

His face schooled into a grim mask, he dipped his head. "Not a problem."

"Well, all right," Negan said. "Dinner's almost ready. Daryl, go on down and get you and..."

"Ava," she reminded him, stuffing down the desire to tear his throat out with her bare hands. She hated the way he was looking at her, like she was a piece of meat.

Negan smiled, and it made her think of a shark. "Ava...some food."

Daryl's eyes widened for only a moment before settling back into their usual bland expression. "We ain't got 'nough points..."

Negan laughed and threw his arm across Daryl's shoulders. The hunter peered at the arm and frowned, but he made no move to push it away. "Think of it as a small token of my thanks."

"Fer what?"

Pointing at Ava, he replied, "Rescuing my girl, there. Oh, she hasn't said yes yet, but I have a feeling she will, very soon."

Again she opened her mouth to respond, but Daryl cut her off with a sharp look. If Negan saw, he made no indication. Instead, he simply called, "Daryl?"

He looked up at the dark-haired man and nodded, praying that no one noticed how his eyes had lingered on Ava's face. "Yeah. Food."

Negan removed his arm, and Daryl silently gave thanks for the sudden bout of self-control when all he wanted to do was slam the other man onto the ground and stomp on his face. "Good man," the Savior said, then clapped Daryl on the back - thankfully not on the shoulder Emmett had patched up a few hours ago - and walked out the door.

When the boss had left to go back to his room, the doctor looked at Daryl and made a soft sound in his throat.

"What?" Daryl asked, with a frown that could wither a cactus.

"I dunno how you managed that, but you should keep doing it."

"Huh?"

"So far, only guy he ever trusted with guarding his 'wives'," he sneered at the word, "ended up on a pole as food for the birds. Since then, only Negan's allowed to protect them. Don't know what you did, but it made a huge impression on him."

"Why'm I still a prisoner, then?" Daryl growled.

"You won't join him," Carson replied simply.

"He's a bully," Daryl told him. "Don't join up with bullies."

Well, that was mostly true. He had spent quite some time following Merle around, both before and after the Turn, and second to their father he was the biggest bully Daryl knew. To be fair, though, until he'd met Rick and the others, Merle had been the only person who'd stuck around with any regularity, the one who'd taught him everything he knew. Even the bad stuff, the things he wished he could forget.

"I can see that." Carson collected some books from his desk and set them on the table with his stethoscope. "Well, be careful. His moods can be...mercurial." Glancing at Ava, he said, "Tomorrow we'll move your bed over to the other side of the room, so you'll have a little more privacy, okay?"

Ava nodded, and he left. Daryl shut the door after him and then came back over to her bed. "Ya hungry?"

She shook her head slowly as if she were afraid to move too suddenly. It must not have worked, as she quickly turned a shade of pale green and made a sort of hiccup, then gagged twice. Understanding what was happening, Daryl quickly grabbed a wastebasket from the floor nearby and shoved it into her lap, just in time. Her eyes squeezing shut, Ava retched violently into it, but the only thing that came up was bile, and even that was less than he had expected. Daryl stood awkwardly nearby, close enough that he could reach out and touch her but far enough that he was spared most of the associated sights and smells. When he guessed that she was done, he grabbed a cloth and handed it to her so she could wipe her mouth, then took the wastebasket and set it under the bed so it wouldn't get kicked over. He'd clean it out later, when she was asleep.

Pouring her a cup of water, he handed it to her and said, "Easy. Little at a time."

She did as he said, sipping it slowly until it was gone, and then he took the empty cup and set it aside.

"Okay?" He asked, and she nodded.

"I think so. Sorry you had to see that."

He shrugged. "Hit yer head. It's normal."

"It's still gross."

She saw a smile tug at his lips then. "Yeah."

Ava leaned her head back and sighed deeply. "Tired."

Without saying anything, Daryl left her side and crossed the room. The light switch sat beside the door, halfway up the wall. He flicked it off, and blackness descended over her eyes. Though she had known it was coming, still it triggered something inside her, a primitive fear that she had not felt in a long time. She felt trapped. Her breath sped up in her chest, each inhale feeling like less air was moving into her lungs. Her hand clutched at her neck, clawing at the skin, and then there was another hand prying it away, fingers curling hers into a fist and gently holding it down on the mattress.

"Hey," Daryl's voice said. "Yer okay."

Her gasps became choked sobs. He sat down on her right side with his arms wrapped around her, pinning her own arms at her sides so she couldn't dig at her throat. His voice was at her ear, his stubble scratching lightly against her cheek as he whispered, "Feel m' chest an' breathe. Won't let nothin' hurt ya."

"I can't," she cried. "Can't breathe."

Daryl held her tighter. "Ya can." Again he said, "Feel me breathe. Close yer eyes."

It took a few minutes, but at last the vise-like tightness in her chest eased enough so that she could concentrate on her breathing. She was aware of every sensation: of his breath stirring her hair, the skin of his fingers pressing against her arms, the creak of the bed as he rocked her back and forth, and they helped her stay in the present, to realize that she really was okay. Each moment passed with her fully conscious of it, and when she finally took in a deep breath Daryl huffed a sigh of relief.

"Atta girl," he said as he stopped rocking and rested the back of his head against the wall.

Ava continued to lean against him, her ear over his heart listening to its thump-thud under his ribs. It was so constant, so regular, as if it had been beating for a thousand years and would continue for another thousand. She wondered where he had come from, before Alexandria, but somehow she knew that if she asked, he would not answer.

"Sleep," he murmured against her hair. "Need to rest."

She tipped her head up to look at his eyes, bright in the moonlight. "You won't leave?"

He shook his head. "Bodyguard, 'member?" He gestured toward the chair beside her bed. "Be right there, all night."

"You must think I'm a basket case."

Another shake of his head. "Been through a lot. 'S okay."

When he was sure she would be all right, he loosed his grip on her arms and slowly moved to stand up. Reaching down, he pulled her blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover her slender form, then smoothed out a wrinkle over her legs and sat down in his chair. He propped his feet up on a short table and slouched down in the seat until he was comfortable, and after a final glance at her he shut his eyes.

"Daryl?" Her voice whispered to him a few moments later, and he hummed in response. "I don't wanna marry Negan."

"Won't have ta," he muttered, already half-asleep.

"No?"

He gave a short shake of his head, eyes still closed.

"Why?"

When he didn't answer she called, "Daryl?"

"Hmm?" He asked, his eyes popping open for only a moment until he saw that nothing had changed, that she was safe. Exhausted, he closed them again. "What'd ya say?"

"Why won't I marry Negan?"

"Mm. Gonna escape."

She dared to hope. "We are?"

He tilted his head in a nod.

"When?"

Again he fell asleep before he could answer.

"Daryl, _when_?" Ava asked again.

He jerked awake and shifted in his chair, turning slightly sideways. "Soon."

 _Could that be true?_ She wondered. She had seen him fight; she knew that if anyone could pull off an escape it would be Daryl. But Negan had dozens of men, and counting her they only had two. Not only that, but there was a perimeter fence with live - _ha!_ \- Walkers chained all along it. There was no way.

But, this was Daryl.

He had gone up against Lucille and won out. She had heard about the way he had refused to flinch when Negan swung the bat at him. How he wasn't afraid. How he had only stood there with that scowl on his face until the other men moved in and beat him unconscious. The women whispered about it in hushed tones, stealing glances at him as if he were the statue of David come to life and draped with ragged clothes, while the men sneered and joked in a bid to hide their jealousy and shame at being outdone by "redneck trailer trash," as they called him.

 _Maybe,_ she thought as she looked over at him sleeping on the chair, his features no longer scrunched up under a frown but relaxed, looking like he must have as a younger man with barely a wrinkle in sight. _Maybe he would be the one to find the way out._

* * *

 _TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

* * *

He'd already tried to escape once, and it definitely had not ended well. Most people would have given up, especially once they understood how well-fortified The Sanctuary was, how much pain the Saviors could deal out as punishment.

But not Daryl.

Despite the dangers of being beaten again - or worse - he needed to go home. Needed to see Rick and Carl and the others. To make sure Maggie and her unborn baby were okay.

Sporting a few new bruises and possibly a cracked rib, he continued to pull double duty - going to work in the yard unloading supplies or catching walkers for the fence in the morning, then spending the afternoon in the infirmary with Ava - for the better part of a week, and he was tired. Tired and hungry and sick of this place and its false sense of security.

It was time, he decided, to get the fuck outta Dodge.

He needed to get Ava out of here, before Negan made her one of his wives or whatever. Daryl thought that was bullshit, that this whole place was bullshit. Forcing people to work for points just so they could eat or have a hot shower, taking away points for something stupid, something Negan didn't like...that was bad enough. But then to pretty much make it impossible to refuse being his wife, to know that you're just fourth or fifth or tenth in a long line of what amounted to a warm body for him to stick it in...

Daryl begged off work detail with a stomach ache - which was only partly a lie - and went up to the infirmary. Carson was there checking over Ava's head wound, shining a penlight in her eyes and asking her to answer some simple questions.

"She gonna make it?" Daryl asked the doctor, who smiled wryly.

"Thanks to you," he replied. "She still has a slight concussion, but it's nothing to worry about."

"I didn't throw up today," she told him with a triumphant grin, holding two thumbs up in the air. "So there's that."

Daryl chuckled. "Proud of ya."

"Like your shirt," Ava said, nodding to the brown plaid flannel he wore despite the baking heat. "Glad they finally let you wear real clothes."

"Yeah. Me, too." He couldn't tell her that he hadn't been given anything, that he had actually stolen them from someone's room.

"So, what brings you up here?" Carson asked as he stood up from his rolling chair. "Or are you here on official bodyguard duty?"

"Just checkin' in. But now ya mention it..."

"Yes?"

"Feelin' a little off today. Could be somethin' I ate, though."

"Hmm. How are the ribs feeling?" The doctor asked, his brows knitted above his eyes.

Daryl shrugged and grunted noncommittally, then asked, "She good to get outta here? Negan wants to talk to 'er."

Carson nodded reluctantly. "I should have her stay here one more day, but..."

Ava looked up at Daryl, confusion clear in her eyes. He had promised her they would escape, that she would never have to marry that grinning bastard. Why was he taking her to him now?

She opened her mouth to argue but he gave a short shake of his head. She could almost read his words in his eyes: _Shut up and trust me._ She wanted to, she really did, but so far every man she'd come into contact with either wanted to kill her or fuck her.

Or both. And in no particular order.

Carson moved closer to Daryl then, a curious look on his face. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little unsteady."

Daryl blinked at him, as if the light suddenly hurt his eyes. "I..." He licked his lips and then suddenly bent over, his arms wrapped around his stomach. Ava shot to her feet, worry settling in her gut.

"Daryl?" She asked, her voice higher in pitch than usual.

"I..." He gasped and tried again. "M' okay..."

He set his hand on a nearby table to try and push himself upright, but the metal tray under his fingers slipped out and he lost his balance and fell to the ground, the tools on the tray clattering to the floor around him. Carson rushed over and slipped his arm around him, helping him to his feet. When he was sure Daryl's knees would keep him upright, he let go of him and turned around to reach for his stethoscope. Suddenly, Daryl's thick forearm was locked around his neck, cutting off his airway.

"Sorry, Doc," Daryl's voice said above the rushing of blood in his ears. "Thanks for patchin' us up."

Carson's eyes fluttered closed as he lost consciousness, and Daryl gently laid him on the floor behind his desk. Standing up again, he went to the window and checked the grounds around the house, then crossed the room and peered into the hallway. When he was sure the coast was clear, he looked at Ava and said, "C'mon."

She crossed her arms. "No."

He stared at her, startled. "What?"

"I'm not goin'."

"Why the hell not?" He hissed. Then he recalled what he'd said to the doctor, and he shoved down the urge to grab her wrist and drag her out of the room. As patiently as he could, he explained, "I ain't takin' ya ta Negan. We're gettin' outta here."

Her arms fell away from her chest. "Now?"

He checked the hallway again, then nodded. "Long as ya move yer ass, we are."

 _This was it_ , she thought. They escape or die trying. She was sort of okay with that, only because she was with Daryl. She'd definitely prefer escaping, though.

He gestured for her hand, and without another thought she rushed forward and slipped her fingers into his palm. Together they crept into the hall and down the stairs, toward the back of the building. The kitchen was back here, as well as the laundry and a few other rooms Daryl guessed were for storing canned goods and such. Usually these rooms were swarming with people, but that was during the meal times; as it was nearing sunset they encountered no one. His gut told him he should be worried about that, but his desire to get away from this place won out and they continued on.

They were about to turn a corner when a man's voice laughed very close to where they were, and Daryl suddenly backed up, almost tripping Ava who had not expected the change in direction. He took a step to the left and rushed into a dark room, yanking Ava in behind him. Pushing her up against the wall with one hand, he quietly closed the door and then pressed himself against the wall beside her. The room was so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face, if she had even tried to look. She felt her chest grow tight, but before she could even begin to panic Daryl's hand was clutching hers, and she felt his breath stir her hair just before he whispered, "'S okay. I'm here."

Together, they listened as footsteps sounded down the hallway they had been standing in, then stopped right in front of their door. Daryl squeezed her hand tighter, and she squeezed back to tell him she understood what he was trying to communicate to her. She felt a little dizzy, but it was fading slowly.

"Haha, yeah," the voice slurred right outside their hiding place. "Catch ya in the morning."

The footsteps started again, but Daryl's sensitive ears discerned that they were moving further down the hall, in the opposite direction from where he was planning to go. They stood frozen in place for at least another two minutes, listening for any sounds at all other than their harsh breathing and pounding hearts. When he figured it was finally safe, Daryl slowly opened the door and peered around it into the corridor. Now that there was light streaming in from outside the room, Ava could see beads of sweat on Daryl's forehead, plastering his bangs to his face. _He had been afraid,_ she thought. _Or at least nervous._

"C'mon," he said, gently tugging her toward the open door. She went willingly enough, just as eager to get out of the Sanctuary as he was. They were almost outside when a voice called out Daryl's name.

They turned as one and saw another of Negan's men coming toward them, a curious look on his face.

"Where you goin'?" He asked, and then Daryl remembered his name.

Cody.

He wasn't sure if that was his first or last name, and he really didn't care. He _did_ remember that Cody was one of the men who had beat him unconscious after Negan threatened him with Lucille. He had also been the one to re-injure Daryl's bullet wound the day he'd kept Benson from attacking Ava. In the short time he'd been here, he had learned that Cody was trying to work his way up the ladder in Negan's little band, taking it upon himself to punish Daryl for every tiny "offense" he committed, and so Daryl felt justified in hating him just a little more than the rest.

Cody seemed to see Ava there for the first time. His eyes cut to Daryl, a sly grin on his face. "What're you two doin'?"

"The fuck 's it look like we're doin'?" Daryl asked with a sneer as he suggestively pulled Ava closer. She played along, her hand pressed to the middle of his chest, and though she could feel his muscles turn rock-solid his expression didn't change.

Cody's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Negan finds out, he'll kill you."

"Yeah, well..." Daryl dropped his voice conspiratorially and leaned forward. "He ain't gonna find out. Know why?"

The other man shook his head. "Why?"

"Cuz ain't no one gonna tell him."

Before Cody could blink, something flashed in Daryl's hand and then a thin stream of blood began to spurt from the man's neck. As he gaped like a fish yanked up onto the shore, it quickly grew into a gush, spilling down the front of his shirt, and he sank to the floor without another sound. Ava looked from Cody's bleeding form to Daryl's eyes, a mixture of horror and confusion in her gaze.

"Did you...how...?" She tried, but he simply reached down and picked up the man's knife, grabbed Ava's hand and rushed for the back door.

As they ran, he explained. "Grabbed a couple of Doc's tools. Scalpels 'n shit."

"That's why you faked a stomach ache. So you could grab them without him seeing you."

"Yeah. That way 's not his fault. He didn't know."

At last, they burst out into the rear of the building, the cool evening air almost sizzling as it touched their heated skin. Daryl saw a row of motorcycles there, their polished chrome calling to him like a siren's song, and he moved closer. There, half-hidden behind a ragged-looking Harley, was the Holy Grail to his Indiana Jones.

His bike.

She was just as ragged, of course, cobbled together from spare parts Aaron had found rusting in different garages throughout Georgia, but that didn't mean she wasn't pretty.

Or maybe she was just pretty to him.

 _Whatever_ , he thought. _Don't matter much._ What did matter was that they had a ride away from here.

Stowing the knife he'd stolen, he moved toward his motorcycle, but before he had even taken two steps he saw the guy everyone called "Fat Joey" come around the side of a car. Daryl looked down and saw a metal pipe laying by one of the motorcycles; keeping his eye on the other man, he bent down and picked up the pipe, and just then Fat Joey saw them.

"The hell?" Fat Joey muttered, confused. Then, he realized it was Daryl, and lifted his hands in surrender. "Hey, you can...you can just leave. I won't tell anyone I saw you."

Daryl said nothing, too pissed to form any kind of coherent thought. Fat Joey was another of the miscreants who had beaten him after his escape attempt. He remembered the smirk on the man's round face, the way he had wound up to get a good shot in.

"I'm just tryin' to get by," Fat Joe told him in a bid for mercy, "just like you." Finally, he tacked on, "Please."

Something inside Daryl snapped then, and he rushed forward and smashed the pipe over the other man's head as hard as he could. Fat Joey collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from his crushed skull, and Daryl just kept on swinging. Blood splashed everywhere, staining Ava's clothes as well as his own.

"Daryl," Ava said, her hand on his arm trying to stop him. He didn't turn to look at her but roared in anger, then shook her off and took another swing. Pieces of what she was sure was brain matter landed on her shoes, and she felt bile rise up in her throat. She spat on the ground and shut her eyes for a moment, blindly reaching again for his arm as she prayed she wouldn't throw up.

"Daryl, stop," she commanded him, and finally he stopped chopping the pipe through the air like a lumberjack and looked down at his handiwork, his chest heaving. Her eyes opened at the same moment he looked up at her, his blue eyes wild behind his dark hair.

"We have to go," she told him, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in her voice. He had never given her reason to be afraid of him before now, had even put himself in harm's way to rescue her, but the look his eyes now held was so intense, so stone-cold, for the first time she was worried about what he would do next.

As he met her gaze he snapped out of whatever dark place his mind had gone to, as if a switch had been flipped. He dropped the pipe and was about to walk away when he noticed a gun tucked into Fat Joey's waistband.

Rick's gun.

Daryl reached down and retrieved it, yanking it out from underneath the body. Ava stood at his elbow and nervously looked around, expecting Saviors to come pouring out of every door and window at any moment. He tucked the gun into his waist and covered it with his shirt, then went to the gate and pushed it open, not even stopping to ponder the fact that it wasn't locked.

Coming back to where Ava stood, he climbed onto his bike and scoffed when he saw the key still in the ignition. "Bastards better not've dented 'er."

"This is yours?" Ava asked over the growl of the engine as he started it.

"Yeah. C'mon," he said, gesturing for her to get on.

She climbed up behind him and then sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do with her hands. She tried gripping the back of the seat, but there was barely enough for her fingertips to hold onto. Her hands hovered between her body and Daryl's while her mind hovered between asking him what to do and just doing _some_ thing. Before she could open her mouth, Daryl huffed impatiently and reached back behind him, pulling her arms forward to wrap around his waist.

 _Oh._

 _Okay._

Ava gripped handfuls of his shirt, holding on tight. She had never been on a motorcycle before and was a little nervous at the unsteady feeling of being on two wheels, especially the first time he pressed on the gas and the bike lurched through the gate. She squeezed her arms tighter around him when they hit gravel at the end of the road and the tires spun, certain she would fall off, but Daryl only eased off the gas and expertly guided the bike onto the asphalt, and in a matter of moments the gates were so far behind them that she couldn't even see them anymore.

Soon after that, they were miles away from the Sanctuary. It took a while, but she finally allowed herself to lean naturally into each turn, her body settling and shifting its weight along with Daryl's. The wind whipped her hair around her face with such force that the ends stung her cheeks, but she would rather that than what she had endured the past few months. She pressed her cheek against his back, closing her eyes and enjoying a rare moment of peace.

They had done it.

They had escaped Negan and his gang of bullies.

She hugged him tighter, her heart so happy it could explode, and was surprised to feel his arm come across his own body to briefly press her hand against himself.

"Where are we going?" She asked in his ear.

He turned his head slightly and loudly replied, "Hilltop."

"It's safe?"

Daryl nodded, but under his breath he muttered, "Better be."

"Thank you," she said then, and he caught her gaze in his side-view mirror.

"Fer what?" He asked.

"Taking me with you." Quietly, she added, "Saving me."

He had read her lips, of course, but he wouldn't tell her that. Instead, he merely nodded again and turned his eyes back to the road, glad that she was unable to see the smile on his face.

* * *

Ava's introduction to the rest of the group went fairly well, all things considered. She was nervous about meeting their leader, Rick, who had since left Hilltop on a personal mission and so wasn't there when she and Daryl pulled up to the gate, but Daryl assured her that he was a good man and would want her to stick around. It helped to hear his endorsement, of course, but she was a stranger to them all. It was getting harder to trust people these days, especially when there were people like Negan around.

When Ava heard Maggie shout out that "they" were back, she came out of the shed where she and Daryl had parked his bike to see a bearded man step through the gates, and instantly she knew from Daryl's description that this was Rick Grimes. Along with him were a teenage boy wearing a sheriff's hat, a dark-skinned woman with long dread-locked hair and a sword across her back, a younger woman with short, dark hair and kind eyes, and another dark-haired woman who wore a military cap and had the demeanor to match. The scar running down the right side of her face only served to enhance her tough-looking exterior, but when she saw the others inside a wide smile beamed from her lips and lit up her eyes.

Rick immediately went to Maggie and embraced her, and they exchanged a few words. Though Ava couldn't hear what was said, the smile on his face let her know that he was happy. From her vantage point, Ava could see him glance over the brunette's shoulder at everyone else. A few seconds later, she understood why. He wasn't just looking at all of them to do a mental inventory of them. He was looking for a specific someone, one _particular_ person.

Ava almost burst into tears the moment he saw the person he'd been searching for. His eyes wide in disbelief, Rick strode across the yard as Daryl walked out of the shed and went to meet him. Dressed in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black jeans that had definitely seen better days, Daryl tried a single nod at Rick, but the stoic look in his blue eyes held for only seconds before quickly crumbling away to allow a sob past his lips. Ducking his head to hide his tears, Daryl moved to hug Rick and the leader readily opened his arms to return it, pressing his forehead against Daryl's shoulder and his hand to the back of the hunter's head. They truly did seem like brothers, embracing as if they hadn't seen each other in years.

 _But maybe_ , Ava thought, _that's exactly how it felt to them._

As they drew apart, Rick gently squeezed his best friend's shoulder and then moved aside so the others who had arrived with him could take their turn hugging Daryl. Ava wiped her eyes and then dried her hands on her jeans. The excitement she saw in this group as they welcomed Daryl back told her just how much he was missed, and she felt a pang of jealousy at that. No one had cared for her like that.

No one ever missed her.

When everyone had greeted him, Daryl turned back to Rick and pulled something out of the waistband of his jeans. Holding the gun backwards with the butt toward Rick, he waited until the leader recognized it, which took mere moments. Rick took it with a grateful nod, opening the cylinder to see if it was loaded, then snapped it shut. As he put it in his hip holster he turned around to walk toward the main house, and his eyes caught Ava standing near the water tower. He gave her a nod, and she accepted his silent invitation and moved to join them.

"Brought a friend?" He asked Daryl.

"Negan wanted 'er," he explained. "Wouldn't take 'no' fer an answer, so..."

"He'll be lookin' for both of ya, then."

Daryl shrugged but made no reply. He couldn't very well have left her there to fend off Negan and his cronies alone, and if Rick didn't like that then tough shit. Secretly, he hoped they killed Negan soon, anyway. Then this whole mess would be over and they could have a moment to breathe. Something told him that wasn't about to happen, though, and that sucked.

"Dinner's about ready," Maggie said from behind them. "More food than we've had in a long time."

"Can't wait," Daryl told her with a slight lift to the corners of his lips - the only version of a smile Ava had ever seen on him. Ava wondered what he looked like when he actually laughed, what it sounded like. _If_ he ever laughed, that was. From the wounded look in his eyes, she doubted it had been any time this decade, at least.

"Crazy lookin' scar you got there," the teenager in the sheriff's hat noted, and Ava reflexively reached up to her hairline to touch it.

"Wrestled a gator," she told him, her eye catching Daryl's and winking slightly. He rolled his eyes and then went back to listening to Rick. Glancing at the boy's face, she said, "Nice bandage you got."

Carl Grimes bit his lip to hide a smile. "Fought a bear."

"Who won?"

"I did. He lost both eyes."

Ava laughed, and Carl joined in. As they walked to the house, she asked, "You're Rick's son?"

"Yeah. Got a little sister, too. Judith. She's in the house with the others."

"She look like you?"

Carl suddenly cast his gaze to the ground and softly said, "A little."

"Sorry," Ava hurriedly said. "I didn't mean to..."

He shook his long hair out of his eyes, and she hid a smile as she realized who he'd learned that from. "It's okay. She, uh, her face is kinda like mine, but she's got blond hair."

Ava glanced ahead at Rick's back. He was tall and thin, and when he had passed her earlier she had seen his bright blue eyes; despite Carl's freckles, she could definitely see the resemblance between father and son. Of course, it helped that they acted very similar as well.

She finally understood what Carl had meant when the door to the manor house opened, and a small blond toddler ran out onto the porch shouting, "Daddy!" With a wide smile Rick stooped down and grabbed her up in his arms, burying his face into her golden ringlets. Beside him, Daryl reached out and lovingly rubbed her hair and she giggled, bending almost in half in order to reach him. Rick chuckled and passed her to the hunter, who wrapped his arms around her and blew raspberries into her neck. Judith gave an ear-piercing scream and tucked her neck into her shoulders, then reached up with chubby hands and tried to tickle him back.

"Hey!" Daryl said, pulling just out of her reach. "Y'know the punishment fer that."

She squealed in anticipation, and a moment later Daryl turned her upside down, holding her legs tightly against his chest with one hand. He let her dangle there for only a few seconds, grinning as she laughed hysterically, and then pulled her back upright.

"You bein' good fer Maggie?" He asked her as he smoothed her curls back from her forehead with his calloused hand. When she nodded, he said, "Good."

He set her down and she chattered at him in her own mysterious toddler language for a moment before scampering off toward a pile of toys scattered on the large porch. All he made out was "play" and "doggie", which sort of made sense as she had bent over to pick up her toy puppy.

Ava turned to Carl. "She keeps you busy, I bet."

The teen nodded. "Nonstop from the time she wakes up." He shrugged. "I don't mind. She's a good kid."

"Like her brother," Ava said with a nudge of her elbow. As his cheeks reddened, she said, "Daryl told me a little about everyone here, just so I wouldn't feel like so much of a stranger."

"Good idea."

"He gets 'em, now and again."

They stepped up onto the front porch, chuckling quietly. Rick was watching from inside the house, a small grin on his face. Daryl had made a good choice in rescuing this woman from Negan, he decided; but then Daryl always was a good judge of character. Rick wasn't sure how he did it, if it was a sixth sense or something about their voice or minute movements, but so far it hadn't failed them, and he doubted if that would change any time soon.

He hoped it wouldn't, anyway.

"C'mon everybody," Maggie said from a large dining room to the right of the front hall, where she and Glenn stood looking like the down-home version of a socialite couple. "Let's sit down and eat."

The group eagerly obeyed, trickling into the room in groups of two and three, the noise of their happy conversations sounding like a rushing river. Again Ava was stunned at how much like a family they seemed: Maggie directed people on where to sit, making sure to give Rick the head of the table even though he tried to sit somewhere in the middle, and Daryl, seated on his left, was again holding Judith on his lap and trying to get her to stick her fingers in the mashed potatoes, while Carl looked on and hid a laugh behind his hand. Michonne sat at Rick's right hand, a beaming smile on her face as she watched Daryl's brilliant plan backfire, as instead of licking her own hands Judith put her potato-covered fingers on Daryl's lips and smeared them around. Rosita sat at the end opposite Rick, polishing a military-style folding knife as she engaged in a conversation with Tara. As Sasha walked past Rosita, the Latina tipped her head up and told her to sit next to her, on her left. Sasha seemed taken aback, but after only a moment she nodded and sat down, joining in their talk. A curly-haired man with kind blue eyes sat beside Michonne, and after a moment Ava recalled that Daryl had introduced him as Aaron, and the long-haired, goateed man beside him was Paul, though he also liked to be called Jesus. Ava remembered the paintings in the church her grandma took her to; she could definitely see the resemblance.

Ava took one of the only remaining empty chairs - situated between Daryl and Maggie - and surveyed the table. The main entree was fresh venison carved into thin slices, served with the Judith-approved mashed potatoes and what looked like canned green beans. A huge bowl of gravy and a plate of flaky biscuits finished out the meal. There was no butter, but someone had managed to find sour cherry preserves and honey. Maggie hadn't been exaggerating when she said there was a lot of food. The whole table seemed filled with serving plates and bowls.

"You're quiet," the pregnant woman said, startling Ava even though she had seen her sit down not two minutes before. "Everything okay?"

Ava nodded. "No. I mean, yeah, everything's okay. I was just thinking."

"Anything in particular?"

She thought for a moment before saying, "You all care about each other so much."

"We've been through a lot together," Maggie told her as she passed the bowl of beans to Glenn. "We've had to rely on each other for a long time."

"I get that. But you're all so different..."

"We are, but that's what makes us strong. We do argue sometimes, but that's just because we have different ideas on how to do things." The brunette smiled softly and took Glenn's hand, and he smiled lovingly back at her. "But we really have come to care about each other more than even family. It's like..."

"We're bonded," Rosita put in. "Our lives are woven together. One of us goes through something, we all go through it."

"Don't leave no one behind," Daryl said then, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ava looked back at him. Judith had fallen asleep laying against his shoulder, her face tucked into his neck and her arms hanging slack by her sides. Daryl's eyes grazed Ava's features and then quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. "Imma go lay 'er down, arms are sore."

After a nod from Rick, Daryl pushed his chair back and carefully stood up, one hand on Judith's back and the other holding her legs tightly against himself. As he left the room, all eyes turned to Ava, and she suddenly felt like she had stepped under a microscope.

"So," Rick said, "Daryl said you were at the Sanctuary."

She set down her fork, taking a breath to ready herself for the barrage of questions she knew was coming. "Yeah. I was."

"Not by choice, I take it." That came from Jesus.

Ava shook her head. "No. Negan wanted me for a wife. I...I'm not down for that."

"But," Rick said, "Negan's wives are treated better than the slaves, like Daryl. Better food, all that."

Ava shook her head again. "I would never marry someone I didn't love, even in times like this. Even if it meant protection from every one of those walkers."

Rick leaned back in his chair, openly appraising her. "So before Negan..."

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to figure out what he was getting at. "I was on my own. Left California as soon as I could, moved east."

"No family?" Glenn asked.

"No. Not anymore."

"How'd you manage to get this far?" Sasha put in. "Surely you met others..."

She shrugged. "I had a group."

It was Rosita who spoke next. "What happened to them?"

"I found out they weren't people I wanted to associate with."

"Can you fight?" Carl asked, and she nodded.

"Well enough."

"You ever kill anyone?" Glenn again.

"Only walkers, and bad people who had it comin'."

"What d'you think of Negan?"

She wasn't sure who had asked that, but she suddenly didn't care. Cheeks burning, she tossed her long hair and stared around the table at everyone. "He's a sociopathic, misogynistic asshole, and I can't wait to be front and center when he chokes on his own blood."

"But..."

"Leave 'er 'lone," Daryl's gruff voice sounded from the doorway. As he walked back in and stood protectively behind her chair, he shot Rick a look that only the two of them understood, as the former sheriff simply spread his hands and then tilted his head to the side. "She ain't no spy, if that's what yer thinkin'."

"We have to be careful," Rick told him. "Negan's getting wise to our moves. Planting a spy is the perfect way to breach our security."

"She ain't," Daryl insisted. Pointing to her head, he raised his voice as he asked, "Y'think she'd let herself get a scar like that, just so I'd trust 'er?"

"Daryl..."

He tossed his head. "Nah. One o' those bastards smashed 'er face into a brick wall, almost raped 'er, an' ya think she's a spy?"

"Oh, no!" Maggie gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth and the other reaching for Ava's. "Honey..."

"Didn't let 'em," he went on. "Beat the shit outta him 'fore he could."

"I meant no offense," Rick assured Ava, his compassion clear in his eyes. "I just...this business with Negan's got us all wired up..."

"It's okay," Ava interjected. "I get it. You need to keep your group safe."

"But y' are one of the group," Daryl said. He turned to Rick. "Ain't she?"

"Course she is," Rick replied, and as Ava looked around the table she saw that everyone else was nodding in agreement. "You say she's good people, that's enough for me."

"She is."

"All right, then."

"Yeah."

Turning to look at Ava, the leader said, "Well, since we're all together, we should make it official. Welcome to the family."

Blushing furiously under their gazes, Ava said, "Thank you." She looked up at Daryl. "All of you."

"You should eat," Rick told him, his blue eyes dipping to look at Daryl's untouched food. "Dunno when we'll get food this good again."

Daryl made a sound in his throat. "Ain't gotta tell me twice."

As the others returned to their original conversations, he pulled out his chair and dumped himself into it. Picking up his fork, he stabbed a piece of venison and took a bite, then swiped the remaining piece on his fork through his potatoes and gravy and shoved it into his mouth. Ava watched him in amusement as he ate everything on his plate, then grabbed seconds and dug back in. She knew that for the week he was at the Sanctuary he hadn't gotten much to eat at all. She wondered how he now managed to stuff that much food into his stomach and not throw up. She also wondered if he could even taste what he was eating, he was packing it away so fast.

When he had finished, he pushed his plate toward the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair. Maggie bent to look around Ava at him, a curious expression on her face. "So, how was it?"

He gestured to his empty plate. "Ate it, didn't I?"

"You did. Second helpin', too."

"Well, then..." he shrugged.

Rick looked at his watch then. "We should turn in. Glenn, you and I will take first watch."

"I can do it," Daryl said, but Rick shook his head.

"Get Ava settled first. Michonne and 'Sita will take second, and you can have third."

"She can stay here," Maggie offered. "There's a bedroom upstairs she can have, got it's own private bathroom."

"I don't wanna impose," Ava told her.

The brunette smiled. "It's no trouble. Us girls need our beauty sleep, and you won't get that sleepin' on Daryl's floor."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'd give 'er the bed. I ain't a savage. Geez."

"I was kiddin', Daryl."

"Mhm," he rumbled. "I'll take 'er up, show 'er 'round."

"Second door on the right," Maggie said.

Daryl nodded, and both he and Ava got up from their seats. Ava flattened herself against the wall so he could get by, and as he passed Maggie he pressed a kiss to her head and said, "Dinner's good, Mags. Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Ava put in.

"Welcome," Maggie replied with a smile.

Daryl reached back and grasped Ava's hand in his, then led her out of the dining room and into the main hall, up the staircase to the second floor. Doors lined the seemingly endless hall, and for a moment she forgot which room Maggie had said would be hers. But Daryl had not, and instantly led her into a spacious bedroom with a queen-sized four post bed as its focal point. There was also a white five-drawer dresser and a matching vanity, its mirror darkened slightly with age.

Daryl pointed to a door set into the side wall, slightly ajar. "Bathroom's there. Usually shared with th' next room over, but it locks from th' inside, an' anyway the other room's empty."

Ava sank down on the mattress, her hands testing out the thickness of the quilt laying atop it. The decor was dated, what most would call drab vintage, but she thought it was beautiful. The soft pastel blue wallpaper was sprinkled with tiny white flowers, the panels separated by white pinstripes, and the hardwood floor was in fair condition despite being subjected to the southern humidity. The light fixtures were also antique, or at least their external parts were, as the house had been wired for electricity decades ago.

"Your people don't trust me," she said then, and he spun so fast she was amazed he didn't trip over his own feet.

"It ain't like that," he argued lightly. "They just wanna understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why ya trust me - a stranger. Why ya'd come to a place ya don't know. They don't...they weren't there, Ava. They don't get it."

As he turned back toward the window, she stood up and walked over to him, her hand barely touching his arm. "But we made it. We got out together."

"Yeah. But Rick's got a point; it'd be like Negan to send a spy here."

"But I'm not..."

He held up a hand to stop her. "I know ya ain't. Ya heard me tell Rick. Point is, he still had to ask. It's his job, leadin' this group."

She nodded. He was right, of course.

"They didn't mean t' upset ya," he said, his breath fogging the glass as he peered out at the moon. "Still, coulda waited a few minutes 'fore the third degree. Sorry I wasn't there."

She quirked her lips in a grin. "I'm a big girl, Daryl. I can take care of myself."

"I know," he told her as he turned to look down into her large, green eyes, "Seen ya fight."

Ava reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched away and she froze. Realizing he had offended her, he quickly said, "Ain't you. I...There's...I can't..."

She shook her head. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Ain't scared. It's just...it's hard t' explain." Changing the subject, he nodded toward the bed and said, "Should get some rest."

Batting her eyelashes, she said, "Big bed. Plenty of room to share."

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Stop."

"I promise I'll behave."

"Ava," he groaned.

She laughed. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind..."

Rolling his eyes, he moved to the door and put his hand on the knob, but something made him stop. His face was serious as he turned back to look at her and said, "Glad yer here."

"Me, too. Thank you again for bringin' me."

"Weren't nothin'."

"It _was_ ," she insisted. "You didn't have to. You could've just taken off, saved yourself."

"Leave you there with Negan, his men pawin' at ya all th' time?" He asked with a scowl. "Nah."

"You didn't even know me. You still don't."

"Told ya, we don't leave no one behind."

"Even strangers?"

Daryl nodded. "Good people. Yeah."

"But how'd you know...?"

"Just do, okay?" He said, a little louder than he wanted to. Taking a breath to calm himself, he added, "Sides, no woman deserves that shit."

Ava stared at him incredulously. Who knew that underneath that rugged, gruff exterior hid a man with a sense of chivalry as big as his toned biceps? Sure, he had protected her, had defended her to the rest of the group, but she had figured that had more to do with preserving his ego. He had brought her here, after all; more than their curiosity about Ava's past, their wondering about whether she was a spy put his ability to determine who was a good person and who wasn't into question. But she never guessed that his sharp demeanor might have been protecting a gentle, easily broken heart.

She should have, however; after all, they were kindred spirits. She knew all too well how to build a wall of defense around herself, metaphorically speaking, and she also knew firsthand what kind of upbringing people like that had endured.

Daryl once again reached for the door knob, but stopped when Ava softly called his name.

"Thanks," she said again, a smile just barely touching her lips.

His jaw muscles twitched slightly upward, his mouth mimicking hers for a fraction of a second, and then he nodded.

"Welcome," he murmured before finally succeeding in pulling the door open and slipping out into the hall. Just before he shut it behind him, he peeked back in and added, "Night."

She smiled back. "Night," she whispered at the closed door.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

* * *

Weeks had passed since Daryl brought her to the family.

Since then, most of Rick's group had gone back to Alexandria, leaving Maggie and Enid and a few others at Hilltop as they gathered supplies and prepared to fight the Saviors. Not too long after that, Carl had been bit by a walker, Negan had burned Alexandria, and Rick had threatened to kill Negan. Again.

But so far, only Carl was dead.

Rick had begged for Judith to get to safety, and Daryl had not hesitated to volunteer for the job.

" _I'll take 'er,"_ he had told Rick then. " _Keep 'er safe."_

Ava had gone ahead with him and the others to Hilltop, riding in the front seat of a beat-up old Ford truck with Judith on her lap, trying her best to keep the toddler interested in everything she could think of, if only to keep her from asking where Carl and Rick were. Every time she mentioned the boy's name, Daryl's eyes misted with tears and his lips trembled, and every time it broke Ava's heart.

Now, she and Daryl were exploring an abandoned neighborhood about forty miles west of their latest home, in a damp basement digging through boxes of musty clothes to add to everyone's wardrobes. Daryl had his flashlight shoved in his mouth so he could use both hands, and Ava was busily pulling open every cardboard box and praying no giant spiders came jumping out.

"Think this'd look good on Sasha?" She asked as she held up an emerald green top.

Daryl just grunted, but Ava knew it was the one he used for yes - or more accurately, "I don't care" - so she shoved it into the duffel they'd brought along. She had just popped open a box only to discover it held five 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, when they both heard a familiar sound. Not the groans of walkers or the rumble of the Saviors' vehicles, but a muffled cry. _A wail, more like,_ Daryl thought.

His head poked up and looked out through the dusty cellar windows at the street beyond, and then he took the flashlight out of his mouth and looked at Ava. "Hear that?"

She nodded. "Sounded like it came from upstairs." Wrinkling her nose, she added, "Sounded like...a baby."

"Yeah. Only we had to kill a bunch of walkers to get in here. Shouldn't be anything livin' here."

She knew what he meant, but she still winced. "Jesus, Daryl. Morbid much?"

"If it ain't a real baby...if it's one of _them_..." he went on as if he hadn't heard her. "I'll do it."

She nodded in agreement as he traded the flashlight for his hunting knife and crept toward the stairs to the first floor. Ava slung the duffel's strap over one shoulder and followed him just as stealthily, her heart in her throat. She had heard of dead-alive babies, of course, but she had not seen one nor had she any desire to. It wasn't right, something so pure turning into a creature like that. She swallowed thickly as she thought of Judith, safe back at Hilltop. She loved that little girl so much. Everyone did.

Even Daryl, though he might never admit it out loud.

And then she blinked and noticed that Daryl had pushed the cellar door open. He took a careful step into the kitchen. It was white, or it had been years ago, but the broken windows had allowed the outside in, and now the walls were coated with a fine layer of grime, the floor littered with crunchy brown leaves. The sink was filled with standing water that had turned black and smelled like death, and the table that was pushed up against the wall was covered with broken dishes, some with rotted bits of food still on them.

Ava gagged behind clamped lips, and Daryl spared her a glance over his shoulder.

"Okay?"

She gave him an uneasy look but answered, "I'll live."

As they moved forward into the hallway they could still hear the plaintive cry, closer now but still not very loud. Daryl stood still and let his sensitive ears work. _Not on this floor. Upstairs, yet._

"Second floor," he told her, already stepping onto the first riser.

"Where's its mom?" She asked him as she trailed him up the stairs. "If any walkers are nearby they're sure to hear."

"Probably went out for food, got caught."

"So if we hadn't come along..."

"If it's real, walkers'd find it."

 _Again with the morbid shit_ , she thought, but kept silent. They followed the sound to a bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed, and when Daryl tried the knob he found it was locked. They shared a look of confusion.

"What now?"

He looked at the knob, then up at her. "You got a bobby pin, some'n'?"

She gestured at her hair hanging loose down her back. "Seriously?"

"Hate to make too much noise," he muttered more to himself. "Bring 'em runnin'."

"We need to do something, Daryl. It could be hurt..."

He chewed his thumbnail for a moment, then suddenly threw up his hands and growled, "Fuck it." Gesturing with his head for her to move out of the way, he lined up with the door and gave it a hard kick, right by the knob. The door jamb splintered with a loud crack and the door swung inward, hitting the wall behind it and denting the already crumbling plaster.

They entered the room together, and after a short search found the source of the cries, swaddled in a ratty blanket and hidden in the closet. It was indeed a baby, and it was fully alive and completely pissed off, at least by Daryl's reckoning. Its tiny face was beet red, huge tears pooling at the corners of its tightly closed eyes and cascading down into its wailing mouth. Ava and Daryl shared a look, silently deciding who would make the first move, and then Daryl stowed his knife and pulled his crossbow off his back. Sliding his arms around the bundle, he carefully plucked the baby out of the pile of clothes it laid on and cradled it to his chest. At first the infant continued to scream, its tiny hands pulling free of the blanket to wave around wildly, but as Daryl began to slowly pace around the room the wails turned to whimpers.

"Shh, little one," he murmured softly, his arms gently rocking the baby as he moved from one side of the room to the other. "Shh..."

Hanging his crossbow against her own back and adjusting the strap so it would sit between her shoulders, Ava watched all of this with a strange tightness in her chest. She had seen him put Judith to sleep a few times, had watched him carry her in his arms until she slumped over his shoulder, her own chubby arms loosely wrapped around his neck. This was the same, and yet not exactly. There was something in his eyes, a longing she had not seen there before.

"Daryl?" Ava asked, and then he blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window and the look was gone.

"Yeah."

"We should look for the mom."

"You wanna hang 'round here?" He asked incredulously. "After all this noise...?"

She looked to the window, half-expecting the house to already be surrounded by the walkers, but nothing stirred. Not even a squirrel. Finally, she replied, "No. Let's just go."

He nodded and turned to leave, but something made him glance back at the closet. Something shiny caught his eye. Tightening his hold on the baby a little, he bent over and picked up the object. Ava moved closer to inspect it, her brows furrowed. "It's a locket."

"Mhm," was all he said in response. He held it out to her by the chain, and she let it fall into her palm. "Open it."

Though she felt guilty about nosing through the mother's personal things, she was also too curious to refuse. Her fingers found the latch and carefully swung it open. She stared down at the two pictures and then at Daryl, her eyes wide. He also looked at them before letting out a deep sigh.

"Ain't gotta wonder if she's 'live, now," he said. The words sounded cold, but the tone of his voice was only sad, as if he had been hoping for better news. He was right. The baby's mother had been one of the walkers they had killed not more than an hour ago. She was still wearing the same dress as the one in the locket photo, her curly black hair now reduced to dirty knots that hung in clumps around what had been porcelain skin. Ava had been the one to put her out of her misery, stabbing her through the skull with her hunting blade. At the time she had barely batted an eye, but now that she knew who she had been she felt sick. The baby in Daryl's arms was an orphan, and that was bad enough. But if they hadn't come along and those walkers had found their way in, broke down the door...

Ava caught movement in her peripheral vision and turned again to the window. Down the block about five houses away, four walkers were stumbling in their direction. She slipped the locket into her jeans pocket and tapped Daryl's arm.

"They're coming," she told him.

He nodded and headed for the doorway. "Figures."

They quickly made their way down the staircase to the first floor. Ava put her hand on the handle of the back door, but when Daryl hissed at her to stop she pulled back as if it had burned her.

"They went 'round," he told her. "Front door." She nodded and followed him to the front. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked and hanging loose on one hinge, one stiff gust of wind away from falling off completely. Daryl went through first, his trained senses vigilant for any sign of the creatures that doubtless had been drawn by the baby's cries. The baby itself had thankfully quieted, now content to stare up at Daryl's face with wide, dark eyes. He gave it a ghost of a smile, then led the way to his motorcycle. They were almost there when he suddenly skidded to a stop and said, "Shit."

Ava looked around, eyes wild. "What? What's wrong?"

"We took the bike," he explained. "Where we gonna put the kid?"

Her head dropped back to look at the sky, her mouth turned down in a frown of defeat. Then she stared at him. "Well, we gotta do something, Daryl. We can't just leave her here."

He narrowed his eyes. "How'd ya know it's a her?"

"The writing on the locket says 'For Chloe'," she said. "And there's a 'C' embroidered on the blanket."

He was not in the mood to argue, so he simply shrugged and glanced around the street. She said the kid's name was Chloe, that was good enough for him. He finally spotted a car a few houses down, its rear window broken out and the others - including the windshield - cracked, but it would have to do. "C'mon," he said, jerking his head in that direction. "Hope it still has gas."

"Hope it even starts," Ava scoffed as they reached the car. Up close its condition was worse - the fenders were rusting off, hanging at angles she had never thought possible, and its lights had all been busted out. She looked up at the sky, noting the time. "If we don't make it back before dark, we're screwed."

Daryl glanced around at their surroundings, then held the baby - Chloe - out to Ava, who took her and held her against her chest. "We'll be fine," he assured her. Popping the hood, he looked around to make sure they weren't about to be surprised by a group of the creatures, then checked all the fluids and found that while it was far from topped off, it should at least get home. Windshield washer was empty, but they shouldn't need that, anyway. He shut the hood and went around to the driver's side, poked through the center console and above the visor on the off chance some idiot had left the keys. Finding none, he pulled out his knife and popped off the panel that held the wiring harness, then made quick work of hot-wiring the car. He touched the ignition wire to the battery wires, which he had twisted together, and the engine sputtered to life. He checked the fuel level and saw that it was on half a tank. _Better hope the gauge ain't broken,_ he told himself as he climbed out of the car.

"Okay," he said, pausing a moment to look at the baby again. "I'll get the bike, ride to the end of the street 'n wait for you."

She looked up. The clouds were growing darker, the sun beginning to glow like a hot coal in the sky. "It's getting dark."

He nodded. "Just stay close. Bike's headlight's bright 'nough, should give us both light to drive by."

"Be careful," she said as she slipped his bow off her back and handed it to him. She also pulled the strap of the duffel bag off her other shoulder and let it slide to the ground, then opened the back door of the car and heaved it onto the seat with one hand.

She waited until he had strapped his crossbow to his back to get into the car, but before she could move Daryl took hold of her elbow, pulling her close to himself so he could stare down into her green eyes. "You, too." His jaw clenched then, some emotion she could not name flickering in his gaze, and it seemed ages before he let go of her.

Without another word, he turned away and went for his bike, and she slid into the driver's seat of the running car. Gently laying Chloe - who had fallen asleep a few moments ago - on the seat, she fastened the belt around the thick blanket she was wrapped in. Not the shoulder belt on the passenger side, but the rare middle buckle that only ancient cars seemed to have anymore. She tightened it as much as she guessed would be comfortable while still being safe, then backed out into the street and watched for Daryl. A few moments passed, and then she saw him slowly roll down the driveway of the house they had hidden his bike behind.

Just as he said, he waited for her at the stop sign on the end of the street, the angel wings embroidered on his recently-washed vest reflecting the setting sun so that they nearly glittered, and she smiled.

For the first time today she felt more hope than fear. The fear was there, it always was, but for now it was tucked down into a corner of her mind.

Keeping her eyes on his back, she watched as he started off toward home, and just like the first time they had met and he had dared to rescue her, she followed him.

* * *

Rick was at the gate when they pulled up, and as soon as he recognized Daryl in the bright lights pointed at the entrance, he dropped his rifle to his side and held up a hand in a greeting. Atop his motorcycle, Daryl waved back as he waited for the gate to open, then slowly drove through. He pulled off to the side as he watched Ava drive in, and only when the gate was safely locked behind her did he cut the engine and climb off. Rick stepped over to him, his blue eyes grave. "Worried you weren't gonna make it back tonight."

Daryl shook his dark hair out of his face. "Nah. Had to work out a second ride, is all."

Rick gave the new car a cursory glance, then looked at Daryl. "Better than the last few we've had."

As Ava's door opened, Daryl nodded and replied, "Runs pretty well, but lights are all busted ta hell."

"Why'd you need a car?" Rick asked then. "Thought she rode out with you on the bike."

Daryl set his shoulders and took a quick breath. _Here goes_ , he thought. Aloud, he said, "We found a kid."

Rick's eyes grew wide. "A kid?" He repeated. "How old?"

Daryl turned to watch Ava reach into the car and take Chloe out. "Baby. I dunno...three, four months, maybe?"

"We don't have any more formula, Daryl," Rick told him. "Used the last of it months ago, and it just lasted Judith."

He nodded. "I know, but we couldn't leave 'er." As Ava reached them, he added, "Mom's a walker."

Rick sighed and put his hands on his hips. The baby in Ava's arms was cute, looking up at him with dark eyes, and he couldn't help remembering what Judith had looked like at her age. Daryl had taken more than his fair amount of time with her, holding and feeding her even when he could have been doing something else. Someone had brought it up once back in Alexandria, while they were all sharing a rare meal together. Asked Daryl something like, "Why're you always holding the kid instead of helping with the wall?" And Daryl had just looked up from Judith's face, stared them dead in the eye and said, "'Cuz without Carl n' Judith n' any other kids 'come along, this place won't be here. They need to remember us. That we loved 'em n' took time with 'em no matter what." And that had been the end of that. Rick imagined that finding this kid had made Daryl remember that as well, and paired with his never-ending supply of empathy the thought of leaving her behind had never even crossed his mind.

"All right," Rick said with a nod. "Might be able to get away with some of the powdered milk we got left downstairs, least 'til the next run."

"Good 'nough," Daryl replied, a hint of a smile on his face. Turning to Ava, he said, "C'mon, make 'er a bed next to mine."

"There's a playpen down in the storeroom," Maggie said as she joined them, a wide smile deepening her dimples as she reached down and let Chloe grip her finger. Her blue eyes sparkling, she breathed, "Ain't she a sight?"

Ava grinned as well. "She is." She looked down at Maggie's belly, where the slight bump she'd had a few months ago was now starting to look more like a basketball under her shirt. "How're you doing?"

"Just fine," Maggie replied. "Feels like I've been pregnant forever."

"It'll be over soon," Ava told her. "Then you'll miss it."

"That's what Glenn says, too." Then, her brow furrowed, and she asked, "So, what's her name?"

"Chloe. At least we think so."

"Found a locket with 'er name on it," Daryl put in. "Ava's got it."

As Rick wandered off to return to guard duty, Maggie gently took her finger back and followed them into the storehouse. "Where'd you find her?"

"In a closet," Daryl replied as he led the way down the cement stairs into the basement of the massive manor house that was the focal point of the small town. "Layin' in a pile of moldy clothes."

"But..." Maggie began, but Ava shook her head and explained.

"Door was locked. I guess her mom locked it to keep her safe while she went out, only she got bit and turned a few hours later."

"Poor thing. Good thing you came along, then."

Daryl found the playpen and brushed a few cobwebs off of it before lifting it and heading back toward the stairs. Ava and Maggie went to the shelves of surplus dry goods and found the powdered milk, grabbing two boxes before turning to follow after him. As they broke out into the summer night's heat they heard someone call Maggie's name, and she gave Ava a long-suffering grin. "Never ends."

Ava shrugged. "Guess not."

"See you at breakfast."

Not waiting for a reply, Maggie headed off to meet whoever had called her, and Ava looked around, realizing that she had lost sight of Daryl. She soon spotted him crouched in front of a mobile home, the heavy wooden front door hanging open and the playpen leaned against the railing. He was trying to hide the fact that he was waiting for her, pretending to be fiddling with a loose rail on the porch steps, and she hid a smile and sped up slightly to join him. As she reached him, she said, "Sorry."

He glanced up at her for a fraction of a second. "Hmm?" He asked as if he hadn't heard, which she knew he had. She had the sudden urge to play poker against him. If he was this bad at feigning ignorance, she could make a killing.

 _No pun intended._

"You walk too fast," she complained. "Got longer legs than me."

Now he stopped playing with the beam to look up at her. "Can't help you's born with badger's legs."

Her mouth dropped open to dispute that, but when she saw the smirk on his face she bit her lip and lightly punched his arm. "Hurry up and set that thing up, so I can put her down. My arms are going numb." Before he could make another joke, she said, "Shut up."

He just chuckled and opened the thin aluminum storm door for her. She stepped into the small kitchen and then stopped, waiting for him to come inside as well. Holding the door open with his hip, he picked up the playpen and brought it inside, then let the storm door slam shut behind him. She let him lead the way into his bedroom, trying not to be unnerved by how dark the hallway was. He seemed to sense her unease and rasped, "Just down here a bit."

She almost ran into his back when he stopped a few steps later. A light switch was flipped, illuminating a room decorated with only a full-sized bed and a foot locker at its end. A sheet had been hung over the window to afford at least some privacy, and beside the window stood a rifle which Ava guessed was loaded in case it was needed with a moment's notice. The bed rested against one wall, so that only one long side could be accessed. It also meant that whoever occupied the bed had a full view of the door, as well as the rest of the room.

Daryl stepped over to the side of the bed and set the makeshift crib down, leaning it against the mattress. "Can set it up right here."

"Are you sure?" Ava asked. "I could keep her with me..."

Daryl shook his head. "Been watchin' over the kids since..." he trailed off, and Ava couldn't miss the look of sadness in his eyes.

Carl. That's the name he was going to say, before his throat closed up. Carl, who was gone now. The kid who insisted on wearing a Stetson and copied everything his dad did. The kid who'd been shot in the eye and still fought walkers as if it had never happened. He was gone, and it still hurt. After Rick, it probably hurt Daryl the most, because he thought of Rick's family as his own. He felt like their uncle, taking care of them in their dad's absence and teaching them useful things - like how to carve stakes and arrows from birch - and not-so-useful but fun things, like how to spit at a distance. Yes, even Judith. When Rick found out - which was only when his sweet, blonde toddler did it right in front of him - he had shouted at Daryl and made him promise not to do it again.

Carl had thought it was hilarious.

"Okay," she relented, softly squeezing his shoulder with her free hand. While he set to work putting the playpen together, she set Chloe down on his bed. "I'll go make some milk. She's bound to be hungry soon."

"There's bottles under the sink in the kitchen," Daryl told her. "Found a few layin' around here."

Ava went back into the kitchen and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. Sure enough, a small box of four bottles sat there, right beside a worn-out scouring pad. She pulled out the box and set the bottles on the counter beside the sink, then set about searching for something to boil water in. She finally found a saucepan that would do the job and filled it with bottled water. As she waited for the water to heat up, she glanced around the kitchen. There was a small table, little more than the kind used to play cards on, and two chairs that had definitely seen better days, their cushions almost non-existent. The curtains were blue, faded from their original bright royal to a grayish cornflower and tied back with yellowed pieces of lace. On the sill of the small window above the sink sat a small, rounded pebble, dark gray with a cross etched into its surface, and beside that was an empty blue glass vase. Ava carefully picked up the stone and brought it closer to her face. She wondered where it had come from, why Daryl had chosen to keep it. It was so small, it could have easily been lost; whoever had given it to him must have meant a lot, for him to not only hold onto it but display it where he would see it every day.

"Put it back."

Ava jumped at Daryl's voice, right behind her. She looked down at the pebble and then at him, wanting to ask so many questions but suddenly unable to form any words at all.

"Put it back," he repeated.

"Daryl, I..."

Frowning hard at her, he came forward and plucked it out of her hand, then set it gently in its spot. Just before he turned away, he said, "Water's boilin'."

She cut her eyes to the right and saw that he was right. As she twisted the burner off, she said, "I didn't mean to..."

"Just get the damned bottle ready," he snapped. "Kid's prob'ly starvin'."

He left the room and she prepared the milk in silence, tears burning the backs of her eyes. She hadn't meant to upset him; she was just curious. Not just about him, but this place and the people who lived here, too. She wanted to get to know all of them, even the ones who were no longer alive.

Timidly she slunk back into Daryl's room, the warm bottle of milk in her hands. He was sitting on the bed with Chloe in his arms, his pinkie finger wrapped in her fist, muttering something softly under his breath to her while she gazed up at him with those big, dark eyes. When he saw Ava there he untangled his finger and reached out his hand.

"I'll feed 'er," he said.

Unwilling to stoke his anger any further, she handed him the bottle and watched as he gently coaxed it into the baby's mouth. She seemed unfamiliar with the nipple and cried unhappily for a moment, drops of milk spilling down her chin, but Daryl patiently tried a few more times until she figured it out. Soon, she was happily sucking down her dinner, and he slowly rocked back and forth, every now and then uttering words of encouragement to her.

"You're a natural," Ava softly said.

He didn't look up as he replied, "Babies jus' like me, I guess."

She silently watched him a while longer, then busied herself with getting the crib ready. Placing a few threadbare blankets down on the bottom, she tucked their edges under the pad so they wouldn't bunch up. She took Chloe's embroidered blanket and laid it loosely over the others, to cover her when she finally fell asleep, then stood back to admire her work. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now.

"Listen," he said so quietly she almost hadn't heard him. "Sorry I got pissed at ya."

"It's okay," she told him. "I shouldn't have touched your stuff without asking."

"Don't got many things, these days. That rock, few other small things 're all I got left of people...People who died."

Ava nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry."

"'S okay."

"She looks content," Ava said, tilting her chin to indicate the baby now sleeping in his arms. Her lips still sucked intermittently at the bottle's nipple even though it was empty, and Daryl waited until she paused to gently slide it out of her mouth and set it aside.

Giving Ava a small smirk, he said, "Told ya she was starvin'."

He slowly stood up and made his way over to the crib, being careful not to jostle the baby too much. Ava watched him nervously, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. She was tired and she could tell Daryl was, too; they didn't need her to wake up and refuse to go back to sleep. Again she was stunned as he bent over and eased Chloe onto her back in the crib, then slid his arms out and covered her with the blanket, all without making so much as her eyelids flutter.

"Night, kiddo," he whispered, laying his hand on her chest for only a moment before stepping away and leading Ava out into the hallway.

When they were in the kitchen again, she looked up at him in awe. "That was...I dunno...amazing."

He scoffed. "Wanna see me pull a rabbit outta my ass next?"

She shook her head. "You _are_ an ass."

"Maybe," he admitted. "How else you think we all survived this long?"

"You're family," she shrugged. "Family's supposed to look out for each other."

Daryl pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. He stretched out his legs under the table, wincing as he did so. She noticed but said nothing, opting instead to grab the rest of the jug of water she had used to make Chloe's milk and then sit in the other chair. Heaving a sigh, she ran her fingers through her long hair, took a long swig of water, and then rested her chin in her hand.

"So what's yer deal?" He asked after such a long silence she had almost dropped off to sleep. "Where'd ya come from, all that?"

Her eyes fluttering open, she switched hands and then shrugged. "Not much to tell. Born in New York, moved to LA ten years ago, when I was 17. World went to hell, and I hooked up with a group out of Nevada, then one in Kansas."

"You got family somewhere?"

She huffed. "No." _Better not to fall down that rabbit hole,_ she thought as she passed the jug to him and watched him take a long swallow. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, "Do you? Besides Rick and them, I mean."

"Had a brother." He winced again as he shifted to prop one ankle over the other. "Name's Merle."

"Like Merle Haggard?" She asked, and he nodded. At the guarded look in his eyes, she guessed, "He died."

"Turned into one of them damned things."

Her head was turned away toward the window, but she caught him wincing out of the corner of her eye, and it was then she remembered that he had used that same foot to kick the door of the room they had found Chloe in. Setting her lips in a thin line, she tipped her head so she could see his legs under the table. He realized he was caught and tried to pull his feet back under his own chair, but it was no use.

Ava pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. "Let me see."

He shook his head. "'S fine. Just a little sore."

"Daryl..."

"I'll have the doc look at it in the mornin'."

"Stop being stubborn and take your boot off, or I'll take it off myself."

She was bluffing, of course, and he had to have known that; but after giving her a hard glare he bent over and untied his laces, muttering under his breath as he took off his boot. Ava sat on the floor and crossed her legs, her hands sliding around his foot as he levered it into her lap.

"Just a strain, is all," he muttered grouchily at her. He really didn't understand why she cared, anyway. She barely knew him; what did it matter to her if his foot hurt?

She ignored him and peeled his sock down past his ankle, uncovering an inch at a time until it was halfway past his arch. She sucked in a breath. The skin right around his ankle was a dusky purple blotched with red pin pricks, and further down it was beginning to swell a little. She touched it experimentally, her fingertips only lightly pressing on the top of his foot, and he muffled a gasp.

"Just a strain?" She asked. "That's what you call this?"

"Be fine," he assured her as he tried to remove his foot from her hands. "Just need ta stay off it a few hours."

"A few days, more like."

His eyes darkened. "Ain't got days. Stuff's gotta get done 'round here..."

She gave him his foot back, but instead of pulling his sock back up he took it off, then kicked off his other boot and took that sock off as well. He stuffed the socks into the mouths of the boots and put them by the door, hobbling on his heel so he wouldn't jar his ankle.

Ava stood up and put her hands on her hips. "They can manage without you," she argued. "If you don't rest that ankle right, it'll never heal."

As he limped back over to the table, he said, "I need ta help. Spent enough time sittin' on my ass in that place..."

"Okay," she relented. "Then at least let me wrap it for you."

"I'll do it m'self. Don't need you tendin' to me like some kinda idiot."

"I don't think you're an idiot," she said as she reached for the jug of water on the table. "I just wanna make sure you're okay..."

"What do ya care?"

She stopped to look at him in confusion. "I care because you're my friend, Daryl. 'Cuz I owe you for bringing me here."

"Told ya, ya don't owe me nothin'," he spat.

"Daryl..."

"Just fuckin' stop!" He cried, swatting the jug away with the back of his hand so that it fell to the floor. In his room, which was less than fifteen feet away on the other side of a thin, poorly insulated wall, Chloe began to cry. "I don't need yer help!"

Her chest heaving, Ava simply stood there, words fizzling on her tongue in the wake of his sudden anger. Daryl glared back at her and then went to tend to the baby, leaving her standing in the kitchen alone.

 _What just happened?_ She asked herself. Sure, Daryl wasn't the easiest person to figure out, and judging by his reaction he was definitely not used to having others worry about him. But she had not expected him to lash out so violently.

She looked at the wall separating them, biting her lower lip as she contemplated trying to talk to him again. No, she decided after a moment. He had made his stance clear; there was no point in pushing the issue further, as he would only put up more figurative walls.

Reaching for the handle on the back door, Ava let herself out and then shut it tightly behind her. She stepped down the porch stairs and headed for the main house without looking back, and so she failed to see Daryl there in the window of his room, watching her leave and fighting the urge to go after her.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

* * *

Ava avoided Daryl for the first few days of the week, honoring his wish that she leave him alone. She stuck to one or two word sentences with him, though she took Chloe back to her room in the manor house whenever he asked her to. He limped around the settlement, stubbornly ignoring her advice to stay off his ankle in favor of helping make improvements and fortify the walls as they prepared to go up against Negan and the Saviors. Others noticed his injury and tried to talk to him, but backed off when he growled that he was fine.

Well, all of 'em except Rick.

He was just as stubborn, and the third day after they brought Chloe back, he ordered Daryl to at least see their Doc Carson for some anti-inflammatory pills. "Or I'll tie you to a chair," was what Rick had promised if he didn't obey. Grudgingly, Daryl had finally hobbled his way to the doctor for the pills, with Rick shadowing him to ensure he actually went. It wasn't that he didn't trust Daryl, because he did. He trusted him with his life, as well as his children's, on a daily basis. It was just that Rick knew Daryl would ignore any pain he was feeling in favor of ensuring everyone else's safety, and that wasn't always a good thing. Daryl deserved to take care of himself just as much as - if not more than - anyone.

As soon as the meds were in his hand and Rick went back to whatever he had been doing, Daryl went right back to working on the walls.

Which was where he was now. Chloe was strapped to his back in a homemade sling, taking her morning nap. She slept peacefully as he paced back and forth directing others on what to do, even when he began to move bricks from one stack to another. The sling was like a hammock for her, only lightly swinging each time he moved.

When he finally stopped, sweat pouring down his face, Ava walked over and handed him a jug of water. "Here," she said, then held her breath, half expecting him to snap at her.

Instead, he took it from her with a muttered, "Thanks," and then downed a long swallow. Pulling out the rag he kept in his back pocket, he poured some of the water onto it and wiped at his face, then handed the jug back to her.

"You want me to take a turn with her?" She asked, gesturing to the baby.

Daryl shook his head. "She's alright."

"Okay."

She turned to leave, but he called her back. Shading her eyes with her hand, she waited expectantly, wondering what he would say.

At first he stood there just looking back at her, as if he had decided against saying what was on his mind. But then something in his eyes changed and he took a few steps toward her, his gaze shifted to the ground.

"Uh," he began lamely, and if times were different she could imagine him standing on her front porch with his hand on the back of his neck, stuttering out an "Aw, shucks."

 _Gee, golly_ , she thought, biting back a smile.

"Still mad 'bout the other day?" He asked. Then before she could reply, he rushed on, "'Cuz if y'are it's...I get it."

Ava shook her head. "No, but I thought you were. You said you didn't need my help, so..."

"Yeah, well..." He looked up and then glanced around, making sure they were far enough away from anyone that might overhear. Squinting his blue eyes in the bright sun, he said, "Sometimes say things I don't mean."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"

"You're only tryin' to help. Shouldn't 've said what I did."

"Sometimes I'm pushy," Ava told him then.

He shrugged. "Don't like bein' wrong."

"And I don't like being ignored. Or told I'm useless."

"Ya ain't," he insisted. "I's just pissed at myself fer gettin' hurt. Took it out on ya." Daryl looked around again, and she noticed that underneath the scruff on his face his cheeks were red. He ducked his head, long bangs covering his eyes as he said, "'M sorry."

"Me, too."

He nodded and then turned as his sensitive ears picked up the footsteps of someone approaching from behind him.

"How's it goin'?" Rick asked as he joined them. Dressed in a gray t-shirt and jeans, he had found a way to groom his beard without actually trimming it, and despite not being a fan of thick beards Ava had to admit it looked nice. Though his facial hair was quickly turning gray, the hair on his head was still mostly brown and combed back, the curls at his forehead tamed down.

"Almost ready," Daryl replied, gently easing Chloe's sling from off one shoulder. He moved to take it off the other one but found that he had snagged it on the knife he kept at his hip. Ava noticed him struggling and helped him untangle everything while watching Chloe's face to see if she woke up, but as usual she barely stirred. When he was free of the contraption he turned to help Ava put it on instead, only she wanted it across her chest rather than on her back. He adjusted the straps so it fit her smaller frame, and she thanked him with a smile before turning back to the former sheriff.

"Shouldn't be more than a day, maybe two," she told him. "All the weapons are ready, and the fortifications are mostly set."

"Mostly?" Rick asked, concern in his blue eyes.

Daryl nodded. "Got a few spots 'hind the house could use some shorin' up, but that's all."

Rick put his hands on his hips. He seemed to be staring at the wall around the town, but Daryl could tell he was looking much further than that; Rick was gazing out past the fields and forests beyond Hilltop, all the way to the Sanctuary. He was imagining Negan standing there with that damned grin on his face, watching them do all this just for him. He'd already destroyed Alexandria, and now he'd be gunning for this place.

" _Ain't that grand?"_ His vision of Negan said. " _A welcoming party for the VIP."_

 _You just come on and see what we've got,_ he thought. _It's gonna be a blast, for sure._

"Rick?" Ava asked, glancing at Daryl with worry in her gaze.

Finally he tore his eyes away from the wall and looked down at her.

"Let me know when it's done." She nodded, and Rick lifted his chin in a nod to Daryl. He moved to turn away but then stopped and asked, "How's the baby doin'?"

"Good," Ava replied.

"Still got enough milk?"

"Yep," Daryl put in from where he sat massaging his bruised ankle. "Should get us through the week."

"Listen," Rick said as he came closer and peered down at the sleeping infant, his eyes wistful, and Ava wondered which of his children he was thinking of. "This business with Negan goes down, you get her as far from the fighting as you can. We got a place set up in the house, down in the storeroom for Judith and the others, but if you can't get there you hide in the safest place you can find."

Ava nodded solemnly. "I will."

"Be better if you got to the storeroom, help Enid watch Judith." His eyes began to well up with tears. "I already lost...I can't..."

Placing her hand on his arm, she said, "I'll keep her safe, Rick."

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and as he walked away Ava turned to Daryl. He had put his boot back on and was trying unsuccessfully to push himself back up from the rock he had sat down on. Stuffing down a sigh, she went over and stuck her arm out to him. He looked up at her and for a moment pride flashed in his blue eyes, but almost immediately it was replaced by something else she couldn't quite identify. He grasped her forearm and let her grip his, and as she pulled him to his feet he muttered, "Thanks."

"Go on and rest that ankle," she said gently. "I got Chloe."

For once, he didn't argue, and that was when she knew he must have been in a significant amount of pain. Giving her a short nod, he limped in the direction of his trailer, and Ava started off toward the manor house where she knew Maggie was meeting with some of the others and planning their next supply run.

Stepping up on the porch and peering through the open front door, she again felt like Scarlett O'Hara entering the palatial plantation house. She almost expected a butler to greet her, or at least a farmhand.

But it was Glenn who met her in the entryway, on his way down the grand staircase toward the kitchen.

"Hi," he said, his black wavy hair still wet from a shower. "Lookin' for Maggie?"

She nodded. "I wanted to talk to her about something."

He grinned at her. "You and about a thousand other people."

"Don't get a lot of time together, do ya?"

"It's the way things are right now," he replied with a shrug. "Once this Negan bullshit is over, it'll get better."

"Hope so."

She doubted it, but she would never say that to him, or anyone else for that matter. Enough of their dreams had been broken; no sense in shattering any more.

"She's in there," Glenn told her, pointing at a pair of heavy wooden doors set into the left-hand wall. He ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a cloth knapsack, then tossed it over his shoulder and started for the front door.

"Where are you off to?" She asked him.

"Gate duty."

"With a backpack of snacks? What, you planning on spending half the day there?"

He blushed and shifted the pack. "Not snacks. Well, not _just_ snacks," he amended. "I..." He came closer to her and lowered his voice. "Can you keep a secret?"

She frowned, looking at him sideways. "Are you sure you should tell me...?"

"It's not like that," he huffed as he rolled his eyes, and Ava couldn't keep from laughing.

"Take a joke, Glenn," she said as she nudged him with a shoulder. "Of course I can."

"I'm makin' something for...for the baby. As a surprise."

Ava's heart melted. "Awww," she began, but he put his hand over her mouth to silence her.

"Shhh!" He hissed. "She'll hear you!"

When he finally removed his hand, she grinned at him and whispered, "Sorry."

He regarded her for a moment before continuing toward the door. As he pulled it open he said, "Don't tell her."

"Bye, Glenn."

"I know where you sleep."

She just laughed evilly, and he shook his head before muttering something under his breath and shutting the front door behind him.

"Hey, Ava," Rosita greeted her when she pushed through the wooden doors to the formal library.

"Hi," she replied. She would have said more, but the beauty of the room stopped her in her tracks. The ceiling of the library soared a full story above them, the tall windows letting in a fair amount of light where dust particles danced like snowflakes on the breeze. The curtains on either side of the windows were made of some sort of brocade that at one time had been pure white, but age had streaked them with ivory; Ava still thought they were gorgeous despite the slight unraveling at their bottom hems. Most of the books were gone now, used as fuel during the winter that had been harsher than most in Southern history, but what was left would be sufficient to last even the most voracious reader at least a whole year. The parquet floor was scuffed and dirty now, but she could still see the patterns of light and dark wood traced out there, and someone - Maggie, probably - had pushed together a collection of tables in the middle of the floor, a lamp suspended above them. A map was spread across the surface of the tables, various routes marked out in either red, green or black, and a few areas were circled in red as well.

"How's our newest resident?" Maggie asked, and Ava smiled.

"She got sick of keeping Uncle Daryl company," she said. Now awake, Chloe cooed, and the women all laughed.

"We've all been there, kid," Rosita said with a chuckle.

"He still out there, playin' with the bricks?"

Ava scoffed. "He was. I finally got him to go rest for a bit, but I doubt it'll be long."

Maggie shook her head. "He's so stubborn."

"I stopped trying to argue with him," Ava told her as she shifted Chloe in her arms. "Deep down, I think he's scared."

"He has reason to be," Maggie said darkly. She knew some of what he had gone through at the Sanctuary, both physically and mentally. She knew that when he wasn't playing bodyguard to Ava, he had been kept in the dark, in a metal box. She also knew that he had been beaten at least twice but probably more, because he refused to submit to Negan. Ava had been there with him for a short while, in the cell beside his, but Maggie guessed that after she had been injured she wouldn't have known what Negan and his men did to Daryl, nor would he tell her. Ava had no idea what her savior had gone through to bring her here. She might never know.

Ava peered down at the map. Pointing to a circled area, she asked, "What's that?"

Maggie wiped at her brow as she bent over. Despite the huge windows, the air inside the library was downright swampy. "That's a grocery store about thirty miles from here. Word is there's medicine still there, hidden in the back."

"Well, if we know about it, then others probably do, too."

Maggie nodded. "Like the Saviors. I know."

"What's to say that stuff is even there, then?"

"Not a lot. But I trust my source, and we're definitely runnin' low on some things. We have to take the chance."

"Right," Ava agreed. "I was actually coming to ask you about that." Moving closer, she lowered her voice and said, "I wondered if I could add some stuff to the list."

The brunette shrugged. "Don't see why not. Just let Rosita know what they are..."

"Actually," Rosita interjected, "why doesn't she come with?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Maggie objected. "Negan's still lookin' for her and Daryl. If he found you out on the road..."

The Latina pouted. "Rick can't go, and neither can you. Daryl's foot's no good, so he's not comin', either. Michonne's good, but it'd be better to have three instead of two."

Maggie sighed. "I don't know...I'd feel better if Daryl at least knew about it."

"Daryl's not my boss," Ava said, defiantly pushing her long hair over her shoulder.

"No, but where Rick is like the general, Daryl's the colonel."

"Fine," Rosita sighed. As Maggie called Daryl on the walkie, Rosita turned to Ava and said, "We leave tomorrow at ten."

Daryl couldn't have been far from the house when she called, as he limped in less than a minute later. "What's up?" He asked when he saw Maggie at the map. The way she had her arms crossed made him nervous. _Woman stands like that, usually means she's ready for a fight and she ain't gonna give up easy._

"We need supplies," she told him by way of a greeting. "'Specially if Negan and his men show up." She looked down at his foot and then back up at his face, and before he could reply she said, "And since you're out of commission, on Rick's orders..." She swept her hand to indicate the two women standing nearby, "Rosita, Ava and Michonne are ready to go tomorrow morning to get what we need."

"Nah," he replied with a terse shake of his head. "Too dangerous. We can wait a few days, til my damn ankle..."

"We really can't, Daryl," Maggie interjected. "If that medicine is there, we need to get it."

"And formula," Ava put in.

"It's a bad idea." He frowned darkly and tilted his head up to stare at the sunlight streaming through the front windows. "What 'bout Chloe?"

"I can help you with her while they're gone," Maggie offered.

Daryl sighed. He had the distinct feeling he was being ganged up on. "Why _can't_ Rick go?"

"I need him here," Maggie said. "Just like I need you. If Negan shows up..."

"We'll be fast," Rosita promised. "Get in, get the supplies, and get out."

He looked down at the map and did some quick mental calculations. He really didn't like this. Their route took them past a smaller military base and a few hunting camps - three, that he knew of. If all of those people had turned...

"Take the car we found," he said at last. "Should have more 'n enough gas to get ya there 'n back."

Maggie nodded at him. "Thank you, Daryl."

Slipping something out of his back pocket, he handed it to Ava. She looked down and then immediately back up at him. "I...I can't take this."

"Ya wanna go out there?" He asked gruffly, and she nodded. "Ya carry that, use it ta stay safe. Saved my ass more 'n once. "

She paused for another moment, but then shoved the knife he'd given her into the back of her jeans, covering it with her shirt. She had her own, of course, but his was bigger and in better shape than hers. Before she could turn away he took her arm; speaking so low only she could hear, he said, "Keep yer eyes open, stay sharp."

Ava nodded. "I will."

"Ya better."

With that, he left, and when the doors had shut behind him the women continued to make a list and draw out their route for the following day.

* * *

It would have been an easy run, if the damned car hadn't decided right then to take a massive shit and die on the side of the road. They would've been back at Hilltop at least two hours ago, not here in the middle of the forest, surrounded by walkers.

"Shit," Ava said as she pulled out a knife - the one Daryl had insisted she take - and prepared to fight the creatures that seemed to appear out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. "I knew that car was a piece of junk."

Michonne put her back against Ava's, her sword already out and ready, and Rosita joined them a moment later, the backpack she'd stuffed with their supplies digging sharply into Ava's side.

"No one's fault," she told Ava, who scoffed under her breath. Pulling out her knife, she added, "We've handled worse."

"Yeah?" Ava asked. "Three against forty?"

Michonne nodded. "Yes." She struck out with her sword, slicing a walker's head in two, then stabbed another between the eyes.

Rosita let one of the creatures get uncomfortably close, then stabbed her knife up through its lower jaw. Ava could see the silver of her blade in its open mouth, at least until Rosita pulled it out and shoved it into its eye socket.

Ava grabbed the rotted tangle of hair atop the closest walker's head and pulled down, stabbing the knife through its temple at the same time. Blood gushed from the wound and ran down her fingers, but she stuffed down the disgust she felt and moved on to the next one, slicing through its graying flesh and kicking it into a tree so its head knocked hard against the trunk and caved in on itself.

"Done this before?" Rosita asked her.

"A few times," Ava admitted as she ducked out of reach of a walker's open arms, then spun around so she was behind it and shoved it toward Michonne so she could dispatch it.

They continued to engage the creatures, killing each one as they stumbled in, but it seemed like for each one they killed two more came in its place. Michonne suggested they try to get to the road, but every direction was blocked by the damned things.

And they were closing in.

Michonne and Rosita were doing their best to cut a path through the walkers, but even they were beginning to become overwhelmed. Three walkers had Ava pinned against a tree, their bony fingers reaching for her. Her knife had been knocked away in the struggle and now lay in the leaves at her feet; she could see its blade glinting in the sun not five feet away, but she couldn't reach it without coming too close to these things' gaping mouths.

All three of the creatures suddenly jerked and fell to the forest floor, and when she looked down she saw an arrow sticking out of the last one's skull. Heaving a breath, she grabbed her knife and then stood back up. She followed the direction the arrow had come from and almost burst into tears. Standing on a ridge less than fifty feet away was none other than Daryl Dixon, his crossbow in his hands.

"Daryl!" She shouted, and he took only a moment to give her a nod before reloading and sending another bolt into the group of walkers near Michonne.

Nodding her head in thanks, Michonne shouted Rosita's name. The Latina turned and saw Daryl, and with a huge smile she grabbed Ava by the wrist and started to run toward him, with Michonne quickly gaining the lead. They made short work of climbing up the ridge, Daryl shooting any walkers that came too close to them, and when all three women were clear he gestured behind him and said, "Truck's back there. Go!"

They ran in that direction, ducking branches and leaping over fallen logs, and when they broke through a thick bramble they saw the road laying not ten feet away. Michonne reached the truck first, and she yanked open the back door and waved the other two women inside, her dark eyes scanning the road for any stray creatures. Rosita hopped in first, heaving a deep breath and leaning her head back against the seat. Ava wasn't far behind her, and as soon as she was tucked in Michonne shut the door. Ava watched the treeline nervously, her face nearly pressed against the smudged glass as she waited, her breath caught in her throat. Each second that ticked by made her more anxious. _Come on_ , she begged silently; _hurry up, Daryl._

Just when she had put her hand on the door handle and began to open it, the branches moved and Daryl came limping out onto the road, and she only just smothered a sob of relief. Michonne went to meet him and exchanged a few words, and then she came around the front of the truck and got into the passenger seat. He opened his door and handed her his crossbow, then slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Once they were far enough down the road that he figured it was safe, he looked up and caught Ava's eye in the rear-view mirror. "The hell happened to the car?"

"It died," she told him. "I don't know why, but it just started acting weird and conked out."

Michonne nodded. "We checked everything we knew how to, but we couldn't see anything wrong."

"So y'all started walkin'? With only knives and a sword to defend yerselves?"

"It wasn't safe in the car," Michonne argued. "The windows were already broken."

"Not to mention the lights," Rosita added.

Daryl blew out a breath. They were right, of course. One hit from a walker's fists and those windows would shatter like thin ice, and the entire rear window was completely gone already. Still, if he hadn't come after them when they failed to come back at the agreed-upon time, they probably wouldn't have come back at all.

Not alive, anyway.

"How's Chloe?" Ava asked him then.

"Good. Keepin' Judith company," he replied with a half-grin. In reality it was Judith who was entertaining the baby, showing her each one of her toys and telling her stories in her tiny toddler voice. If Rick hadn't been there watching she probably would have fed Chloe some of her Cheerios, too.

Ava sat back, relieved. "Good. Okay."

"Y'all okay?" He asked then. "Anybody hurt?"

Michonne was the first to reply. "I'm good."

Rosita glanced down at herself, then said, "Me, too."

His blue eyes found Ava's again in the mirror, waiting for her answer. She looked down at her hands. They were covered in blood, but she was pretty sure it was all from the walkers she'd taken out. Other than the new rip in her jeans, her legs looked okay, too.

"I think..." She began, but Rosita suddenly leaned over, her dark eyes wide.

"Ava," she breathed, reaching over to peel a blood-soaked corner of her flannel shirt away from her torso. Ava looked down at her t-shirt and saw a matching stain on it. Meeting Daryl's eyes in the mirror, she opened her mouth but nothing came out. He slammed on the brakes and threw the truck in park, then turned around and knelt on the front bench, leaning over the front seat to inspect the wound himself. When he found his reach was too short, he muttered a curse and got out of the truck. He pulled open her door and leaned over her, his hands hesitating a moment before pushing her t-shirt out of the way.

After a few moments of prodding, he sighed in relief and said, "Looks like ya got stabbed by a stick. Bleedin's already stopped."

"We should get her back to Carson, just in case," Michonne suggested grimly, and he nodded.

"Must've happened when those three bastards had me against the tree," Ava told him. "I'm okay, Daryl."

He insisted on looking her over anyway, but when no more wounds appeared he took a deep breath and got back into the driver's seat. His hands gripping the steering wheel, he simply sat and stared through the windshield at the road ahead for at least two full minutes, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally, Rosita softly called his name, and without replying he shifted the truck's gears and started driving again, his shoulders so tense it hurt just to look at them.

In the back seat, Ava and Rosita exchanged a worried glance. Each of them knew that a silent Daryl was a dangerous Daryl. Even Michonne, who sympathized with both Daryl and Ava, seemed to understand that all conversation was over for now. She knew that Daryl was nothing if not stubborn; if he made up his mind not to listen to reason, then that was it. Worse, he also was adept at finding a way to blame himself for anything bad that happened to someone else, whether he was there or not.

They drove in silence the entire way back to Hilltop, the truck's rumbling engine the only sound. Finally, they saw the walls straight ahead of them, and Ava breathed a sigh of relief.

They were home.

Just as always, Rick was just inside the gate. He walked up to Daryl's open window smiling, but when he saw the hunter's expression his heart dropped. Leaning his arm on the sill, he immediately asked, "What happened?"

"Car broke down few miles out. Girls started walkin', got trapped by walkers."

Rick nodded solemnly. "Anybody bit?"

Daryl shook his head. "Ava's hurt, but it ain't bad."

He glanced back at Ava and she tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it never quite made it out. "All right," he said after a long moment. "Make sure she gets it patched up." Leaning further in so he could see Michonne, he said, "Hey. Got a minute?"

She tilted her head in assent, a tiny smile finding her lips. "Of course."

As soon as she had slipped out of the truck and shut the door, Rick grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against himself and kissed her on the mouth. Michonne's arms wrapped around his neck as she made a happy sound in her throat.

"You two get a room," Daryl muttered as the pair parted.

Michonne looked back at him and gave him a full-watt grin. "Plannin' on it."

Daryl scowled at her, but she just laughed. He drove on down the road and parked in front of his small house, where Rosita got out and then reached back in for the pack full of supplies.

"I'll go put this stuff away," she said as Daryl opened Ava's door for her, and he nodded at her over the top of the truck.

"Thanks, 'Sita."

Ava climbed out of the back seat and waited as Daryl shut her door, then walked with him toward the doctor's trailer. She could see from the set of his shoulders that he was still upset, so she refrained from joking with him and just concentrated on the ground in front of her. She knew he was really just worried, but unfortunately worry usually manifested in him as silent anger. She wondered who he was mad at - her, for going on the run, or himself, for letting her go.

She was so focused on her own thoughts that she didn't see him stop, and she only barely kept herself from crashing into his back by planting her hands on his leather vest. He spun to face her and at first only stared down into her eyes. Then, he said, "I knew it 's a bad idea, you goin' out there."

"Daryl..."

He shook his head, unwilling to listen. "It's not safe. I can't...ya almost got killed out there. If I didn't come lookin'..."

"But you did."

"Only 'cuz you 're late gettin' back."

"I'm fine," she tried again.

"'Cuz I was there!" He shouted. "And sometimes even that ain't enough!"

"So what d'you want me to do?" She cried. "Stay here the rest of my life? Locked away in the manor house, like one of Negan's wives?"

Angry now, he clenched his jaw and came closer to her. "Least they're protected. Not runnin' out in the wild where somethin' could eat 'em!"

She blinked in surprise. "You're crazy. Those women aren't treated any better than livestock, and you know it. You _saw_." He started to walk away from her, but she refused to let him get off easy and trailed after him, asking, "Why don't you just tell me what's really wrong?"

"Just did. Ya ain't listenin'."

She caught up with him and grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her. "Daryl, stop!"

"Ain't got nothin' else to say."

She scowled. "That's not what I meant."

"What'd you mean, then?" He asked. "Stop arguin'? Fine. Go on 'n do what ya want. See what happens."

"No..."

"Well then, spit it out, girl! Ain't got time ta play games!"

"Stop pretending you're not scared!" She shouted at him. "Stop pretending you don't care!"

"I _do_ care!" He shouted angrily, even as tears welled in his eyes. "I care too fucking much, an' I can't!"

"Daryl..."

He shook his head, the tears breaking loose to spill down his tanned cheeks. "Don't ya get it? Everybody I care about dies! Beth. Sophia. Merle...It's all on me. My fault!"

She threw her arms around him then, her hands gripping the angel wings on the back of his vest as his own arms hung helplessly at his sides. She didn't care if he didn't hug her back. He needed to know she cared about him, that she wasn't going to abandon him at the smallest hint of trouble.

His head bowed, Daryl laid his forehead on top of hers.

"Can't lose anyone else," he cried into her hair. "Please...don't..."

Ava held him tightly despite the wound in her side, her own eyes burning with tears. "You won't."

"I 's so goddamn scared ya got bit," he admitted.

She shushed him. "I know."

"When Carl...there was nothin' we could do. Nothin' _I_ could do."

"I know," she said.

And there it was. The real reason he was upset. He couldn't help Carl, couldn't just cut off a limb and sear the wound shut. He couldn't keep Rick from having to mourn another member of his family. Carl's death had affected him more deeply than anyone else, because despite the fact that he was still a kid, he was a tough kid. He'd had so much fight in him. Daryl didn't think it was fair.

It wasn't. But that was life.

After a while, he brought his hand up to wipe at his face, and she took the opportunity to tip her head up and press a light kiss on his cheek. When she pulled away she gave him a smile and said, "You're such a teddy bear, Daryl."

He looked down at her for a moment, wondering if he had heard her right. When he realized that he had, he sputtered out a laugh and she giggled along with him. Chucking his thumb over his shoulder, he said, "Let's get ya in there. Weirdo."

She nodded. "Okay. And, Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"I dunno everything about what happened before I got here, but I do know that it's not all your fault."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"'Cuz if it was, Rick wouldn't keep you here."

He looked away, toward the woods, then shrugged. "Maybe. C'mon."

She let him lead the way inside, watching his back and enjoying the way his shoulder muscles moved under his vest. She thought then how well that particular article of clothing fit his character. He was an angel, one with dirty wings. A creature with a pure heart, damaged from being abandoned but unwilling to give up hope on others. He was a warrior, able to kill almost without thought, but whenever Judith or Chloe reached for him he melted.

He was a good man.

He just needed to believe that himself.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

* * *

Ava stood on the front porch of Maggie and Glenn's house, pacing slowly back and forth and praying the baby in her arms would be calmed by both the motion and the warm breeze blowing softly around them. Her cries had quieted down from the harsh screams that had first wakened Ava - and probably the other people in the house - but still she wailed as if she was in pain, and Ava had no idea how to soothe her. She looked across the dirt road as she racked her brain for some way to get Chloe back to sleep and half-consciously noticed that Daryl's trailer was completely dark. In a way, she was glad; he needed all the sleep he could get during this lull in the fight against the Saviors. But she also wished he was awake, only because he was so good with babies. He seemed to know just what to do, while she sort of muddled along as best she could.

Glancing down at Chloe's tiny face, she felt sadness tug at her heart as she saw how much like her mother she looked. Her dark curls framed her head perfectly, her skin untouched by even a single freckle, and though her eyes were shut tight as she cried Ava knew they were the same dark brown as the woman who had brought her into this world. She wondered where they had come from, if they had lived in that town or had gone there seeking food and shelter. The picture in the locket gave a few clues as to what her mother had been like alive - her hair was pulled back into a ponytail or braid, suggesting that it needed to stay out of her eyes and face, and her eyes themselves were dark and stern, but also held an unending supply of compassion - and so Ava guessed that she had been something like a nurse or another type of healthcare worker. At somewhere around 22, she had been too young to be a doctor.

"Rough night?" Daryl's voice said from the porch stairs, and she only barely kept from jumping out of her skin because he was nearly drowned out by the baby's cries.

"She won't stop," Ava told him, on the verge of tears herself. She was so tired, all she wanted was an hour or two to pass out. "I don't know what to do."

He hopped up the steps in two strides and came over to where she stood, near the swing. "Lemme try," he said, his arms outstretched. She placed Chloe in his arms, and as he began to pace across the porch he gently bounced her up and down. "Hey, little girl," he murmured, his gruff voice transforming into a soft sing-song tone. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I tried a bottle, but she just screamed louder. Tried rocking her, rubbing her gums..."

Daryl shrugged. "Sometimes babies jus' cry. Dunno what they want themselves."

Ava leaned against one of the pillars supporting the porch and watched as he soothed her, a small smile on her face. He didn't seem bothered by Chloe's loud wails, only shushed her and shifted her position in his arms every few minutes. Finally, he laid her up against his shoulder, his hand placed protectively against her small back. She hiccuped a few times and then slowly calmed down, until she only gave shuddered sighs. His eyes found Ava and he grinned proudly.

"There ya go," he said to the baby just before he lightly kissed her soft hair. "That's it, princess. Go ta sleep."

"How do you _do_ that?" Ava asked quietly.

Daryl shrugged. "Dunno. Maggie says it's my voice. Rumbles against 'em an' calms 'em down." Then he smiled. "Prob'ly my pits, though. Smell so bad, knocks 'em out."

Ava smothered a laugh with her hand, then tapped his shoulder with the back of her hand as he passed her. "You don't smell bad, Daryl." She waggled her eyebrows. "I should know."

"Think yer nose jus' don't work no more."

He continued pacing despite his bruised ankle, legs bending slightly to continue the soothing up-and-down motion, and he again pressed his nose against the baby's head as he said, "Sleep, princess. Mama..." He blushed and stuttered, "Uh, I mean... _Ava_...needs 'er rest, too."

Ava looked up at him, her eyes wide, but said nothing. She had to admit, she was sort of a mother to Chloe as she had agreed to care for the baby as her own, but it was jarring to hear the word aloud. Especially coming from Daryl. She wondered if that was really how he saw her, and if he saw himself as a dad, or just an uncle like he was to Judith. After all, in rescuing her from the closet he had made the same promise to raise Chloe, to protect her no matter what. No matter what happened to Ava, she knew that he would keep that promise or die trying.

She pushed off the pillar and came to stand near him, at the shoulder Chloe was leaning against. The baby's face was turned outward, her eyelids slowly closing as she rested peacefully on him, and Ava's heart filled with love.

"Never thought this is where I'd be," Daryl softly said, shaggy head shaking in disbelief. "Puttin' a kid t' sleep like some nursemaid."

Ava shrugged. "They say you can tell a man's character by how he treats kids."

"And animals," Daryl added.

"You like animals?"

He got that mischievous look in his eye. "Yeah. Taste good over a fire."

She huffed impatiently, but she was smiling. "You're such a jerk."

"I'd be nice t' someone came, help ya put a baby t' sleep."

"I'm not the one making jokes," she retorted, still grinning.

Daryl looked down and noticed that Chloe had finally drifted off to sleep, her small limbs hanging limply against his chest. His arms tired, he paced over to the swing and slowly sat down in it, and Ava held it steady for him before settling herself beside him. The night was peaceful now that the baby had stopped screaming, the only sounds the squeaking of the swing's chains and the crickets chirping in the grass.

Laying her arm along the back of the swing, Ava turned her face toward Daryl and said, "Tell me about Daryl Dixon."

He frowned. "Y'know me already."

"I do," she agreed, "but I don't know everything."

"Ain't much to tell."

"Just..." she sighed and reframed her inquiry. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

He shifted Chloe slightly, slowly, so as not to wake her, then slouched himself downward until the heels of his black boots could comfortably touch the floor and used them to push the swing back and forth. He seemed lost in thought for a while, until Ava wondered if maybe he'd forgotten the question. Then, so softly she had to strain to hear, he said, "Had a dog, once."

"What kind?" She prompted when it seemed that was all he would say.

"Hound. Taught 'er to hunt coons n' stuff. Best dog 'round our parts. Use t' follow me halfway t' school then go home, all by 'erself."

He sighed and leaned his head back, his features drawn as if the memory physically hurt him, and Ava instantly regretted asking him about his past.

"Merle'd torment 'er some'n fierce, so I kept 'er out in the woods, deep in where he'd never go. Went out a couple times a day t' give 'er food n' water, play with 'er a bit. She 's a good dog, never hurt nobody didn't deserve it..."

"Daryl," Ava said as she saw the distress in his eyes. "What happened?"

"She..." His voice cracked then, and he blinked rapidly in the moonlight. "Story was that she bit Merle. Just ran t' the end of her chain n' grabbed 'is leg. He ran home, told Dad." He sniffled, and Ava's heart broke before he even finished his next sentence. "I didn't know what happened til I came home n' ran out t' see 'er, like always. Found 'er layin' there, big ol' bullet hole in 'er face."

Ava took his hand in hers, laid her cheek on his knuckles as he went on. "Ran back home, cryin' like a bitch. Dad asks what fer, so I tell 'em." He scoffed. "Tells me he's the one went out n' shot 'er. Didn't even have the guts t' tell me 'fore I went out there."

"He just let you find her that way, alone." Daryl nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, and she whispered, "My God, Daryl. That's so terrible."

He cleared his throat and checked to make sure the sound didn't wake Chloe, but she was fast asleep. "Shouldn't been surprised. He 's a mean bastard anyway..."

"How old were you?" She asked.

"Must've been ten, eleven. Merle'd just got outta juvie, and after that he went t' the military."

" _Did_ she bite him?"

Daryl lifted his shoulders. "He had a bite mark on 'is leg. Dunno if it was hers or not."

"Or if he did something to make her afraid or hurt her, and she lashed out?"

He nodded. "More like it."

Ava leaned her head back against the swing. "Merle sounds like an asshole." Then, realizing how harsh that sounded, she added, "Sorry."

"Nah. He was." Shutting his eyes, he said, "Still didn't deserve turnin' into a walker, n' me stabbin' 'im in the face."

She had no reply for that so she just sat there beside him, their hands joined between them. It seemed like hours before Daryl said, "Wasn't 'is fault, turned out the way he did. Dad taught 'im everything he knew. Tried ta teach me, too. Guess it didn't take."

"Because you're a good man," Ava replied. "You could never be like that."

He snorted. "Couldn't, huh?" When she shook her head, he said, "Maybe you should tell Fat Joe. Or Officer Lerner? Or..."

"You did what you had to do, to protect your family," she interrupted. Before he could argue, she said, "You're a fighter, Daryl, but you never lose your humanity. No matter what evil comes and tries to take everything away from you, you refuse to let yourself get pulled into that darkness. You killed Fat Joe because you were being tortured and held prisoner, and that was our only way out."

"He said he wouldn't tell anyone."

She rolled her eyes. "He said a lot of things. He said it himself, he was just trying to survive. If it would save his life, he would rat you out in a heartbeat."

He watched her face for a long moment, then said, "I guess."

"You're nothing like Merle, or your dad. You have a good heart, and to know that someone tried to ruin it...To make it so you would never be Judith's 'Uncle Daryl', never want to hold Chloe like you are now. To never be Rick's brother. It pisses me off so bad.

"I watch you with those kids, Daryl. Watch your eyes melt when Judith lifts her arms and asks you to hold her. I saw you fall apart when Carl died, like a piece of you died along with him. And when I think of how your parents didn't give a shit about what happened to you, how they ignored you and hit you and called you names..." She stopped as a sob escaped her throat, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "I know that's why you spend extra time with Chloe at night, just looking down at her in her crib. I know that's why you hug Judith so tight before you set her down. Because those are the things you never felt, and you never want them to grow up without feeling them."

"These people r' my life," Daryl told her. "I'd do anything t' keep 'em safe. 'Specially th' kids."

She nodded. "I know."

"I want 'em to know they're never alone. That I...I love 'em." He wiped at his eyes, brushing away tears that his bangs had hidden from her. "I hope...hope Carl knew..."

She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, then laid her head against it. His muscles went rigid at first, as if he were afraid to move, but with each second that passed they relaxed back to normal. "He did. He knew how you felt."

"Kid was tough as shit."

Ava smiled through her tears. "He sure was."

"Miss 'im."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence for a while, savoring the light breeze. Unwilling to break the serenity, Ava closed her eyes and just let the scents and sounds of the outdoors sink into her mind. She barely registered when Daryl's voice rumbled in his chest, and it took a moment to fully comprehend his words.

"Didn't want his last sight o' me ta be sobbin' like a baby. 'S why I didn't say much when..."

She opened her eyes and gently turned his face to look at her. "I know, and so did he. I didn't know him nearly as long as you did, but one thing I could tell was that he got you. He had you figured out, even if you hadn't. And he was more like you than you know."

"Huh?"

"He looked up to you."

Daryl shook his head. "Wanted to be like his dad."

Ava let a small grin flit across her lips. "He wanted to be like _both_ of you. Fair, like Rick, but with your shrewd ability to sense who to trust, and your sense of justice. He grew his hair because you did, but he wore his dad's hat over it. He knew you two were good men, and he wanted to be a good man, too."

Daryl pondered that in silence, then softly said, "He was."

A yawn suddenly broke free from Ava, though she quickly hid it behind her hand. "Sorry," she said afterward. "Guess this whole caring-for-a-baby thing is more exhausting than they make it sound."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Books, movies...actual moms. They tell you you're gonna be tired, sure, but not how bad it gets."

Daryl grinned. "Wuss."

She nudged him with an elbow. "You wanna take over being mommy, then? Stopping whatever you're doing to feed her every two hours, then rocking her another hour tryin' to get her to stop crying? Oh, and by the way, don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't changed a single diaper. It's definitely your turn for that."

"Hell naw," he replied, though he was still smiling. "But I'll take 'er fer a while, so ya can rest."

She shook her head. "You need sleep, too. Now that she's out she should be okay 'til morning."

"Why ya still stayin' here, anyway?"

Ava's cheeks grew hot, and she stared down at her hands. "Cuz."

"Cuz why?"

"They got a nice kitchen," she muttered, hoping he wouldn't hear. It was ridiculous, she knew, but the light, airy kitchen inside the manor house reminded her of her home. Of the good times there, anyway. Not that there were many of those.

He looked at her and then snickered. "Nice kitchen? That's it?" When she nodded he laughed again and said, "Hell, I got a kitchen, spare room with a bed in it, too. If ya want."

"The baby..."

"Don't bother me. Used to sleep on the floor of the RV, kids crawlin' all over the place." Without waiting for her reply he got up and started down the porch steps, and unsurprisingly Ava followed him. She wasn't quite sure why, as she really did have a pretty good space at Maggie's. Her own bathroom, a big bed, and yes, the kitchen in the manor house was amazing. But there was something about Daryl that made her want to be near him, that made her feel safer just knowing he was close by.

They walked across the yard to the trailer Daryl had claimed as his own, and when they were almost to the porch she overtook him so she could hold the door open for him. He thanked her with a nod and went directly to the spare room, flicking on the light as he passed the switch.

"Ain't much, but the bed's okay."

"It's fine. Thank you, Daryl."

"Playpen's prob'ly still over at the house..."

Ava stopped him with a hand on his arm. "We'll make do. I'll just keep her with me."

"Ya ain't gonna roll over on 'er or nothin'...?"

"Nah." He looked at her skeptically, so she added, "Promise."

"A'ight," he said with a nod. "Go 'head n' get in, I'll set 'er down."

She paused, trying to figure out if he was serious. When he stood waiting for her, she shrugged and then slid under the quilt, sighing when her bare legs came into contact with the cool sheets. She turned on her side and peeled a corner of the blanket back, then stuck one hand under her head and used the other to pat the mattress beside her.

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

Daryl came forward and gently laid Chloe beside Ava in the space she had made between herself and the wall. Taking the corner of the quilt Ava had turned down, he pulled it up over the baby's chest, then lightly laid his hand over it and murmured, "Night, princess."

His hand trailed over Ava's arm as he straightened, and she reached up to take it before he could move away. Her eyes already fluttering sleepily, she muttered, "Night, Daryl."

"Want the light off?" He asked as he pulled out of her grasp so slowly she didn't notice until his fingertips were brushing hers. "Don't want ya freakin' out if..."

"Sure," she replied. "Thanks."

"Mhm." He turned off the lights and opened the door, and was about to leave the room when she called his name. "Yeah?" He asked, looking at her in the light spilling in from the hallway.

"You're a good man."

"'Kay."

"Got a big heart."

He couldn't stop his lips from curving upward in a smile. His hand on the door handle, he shushed her and then said, "Go t'sleep."

She made a soft sound and then snuggled into the covers, and he banished the thought of joining her under the blanket, of wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her long hair. Time wasn't right, and anyway Chloe was there now.

Taking a last glance, he quietly shut the door and went to his room. Flopping down on his back on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered just what in the hell was happening to him. He had been perfectly content to be alone, keeping Rick and the others only just so close; but since Ava had come into his life he suddenly found himself contemplating a not-so-singular existence. He sighed, then turned his face toward the wall separating them. Much like when they were in the Sanctuary, he imagined what she looked like right now. She was probably lying there in the guest bed, her long chestnut hair spread out on the pillow. One arm tucked around the baby and the other under her head, dark eyelashes resting lightly on her cheeks as she slept...

Daryl huffed and rolled onto his side. This was ridiculous, him pining away after some woman he barely knew. Sure she was pretty, and she smelled good despite there being one working hot shower in the small community, with a five minute limit and a sign-up sheet to use it. And yeah, she got along great with everyone in their family - especially Maggie - but he didn't need this kind of difficulty in his life.

Feelings.

Making an effort to be nice when all he wanted to do was growl and mutter and throw shit around. Listening and fuckin' caring about whatever the hell she was talkin' about.

All that crap was exhausting for someone like him, more exhausting than killing a score of walkers with only his bare hands. He had to admit, he sort of missed the old days, right after the Turn when all that mattered was not getting eaten. When it was just him and Merle...

 _Robbin' people blind and raisin' Cain everywhere we went_ , he heard Merle's voice say in his head, and he shut his eyes and muttered a curse out loud. He didn't need this right now, either. _Anythin' we needed, we took fer ourselves. Just you an' me, since we was kids._

 _It wasn't always you an' me,_ Daryl replied mentally _. Fer a long time it 's just me._

What had started as a voice had now manifested into a vision - a hallucination, more like - and Daryl made a disgusted sound and flung his arm over his eyes as his vision of Merle stood at the end of his bed, one foot up on the rail.

" _"Ya needed that time to toughen up. Couldn't do that with big brother protectin' ya'll the time."_

"Ya ran from home 'cuz you was scared an' sick of bein' beat on," he muttered aloud, only marginally questioning his sanity in the moment. "So ya left me to take it instead."

He didn't look, but he just _knew_ that Merle had lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and Daryl felt the distinct urge to strangle him. "Look at ya now, baby brother. All cozied up in another piece o' shit trailer, playin' house with Chicky there..."

"Name's Ava," Daryl growled as he sat up and glared at his brother. "An' I ain't playin' nothin'."

"Ain't what it looks like ta me."

"Don't give a shit what it looks like."

"You ain't cut out fer that life, little bro," Merle sneered. "Yer a true-blue, dyed-in-the-wool Dixon..."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Daryl interjected.

"Ya know what it means," Merle replied, his voice suddenly louder in the small room. "Ya think ya better than the old man? Than his old man before 'im?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, I do."

His older brother snickered and then slapped his knee. Coming around the bed, he sat down on the mattress, facing Daryl, who now sat up and tucked his arms around his knees. "Lemme ask ya somethin', Mr. High N Mighty. She know 'bout that little anger issue o' yers?"

"Yeah. She saw..."

"I ain't talkin' 'bout ya yellin' or whatever prissy crap that is. I mean that terrifyin' rage... Daryl 's like an animal sprung from a trap, lashin' out at everythin' he sees."

Daryl shook his head. "That ain't me no more, Merle."

"Sure it is. Just been buried under all this happy 'family' horseshit. Needs somethin' diggin' around in that pea brain o' yours 'fore it comes out again. And it _will_ come out. Maybe a month from now, maybe a year. And when it does, she's gone. Girl like that don't put up with a man raises a hand to 'em."

"I won't," Daryl insisted. "I'd never hurt her."

Merle laughed again and it echoed so loud it almost hurt Daryl's ears. "Ya can't help it. That there's the Dixon curse, been handed down since the beginnin'."

"No."

"What, ya think Ma drank and smoked cuz she's happy? Even when we was kids we could tell she wanted out. Just dumb luck she burned herself to death 'stead of takin' too many pills."

"Stop. Ma was...she couldn't..."

Merle's sneer turned into a frown, as if he was contemplating whether or not Daryl was an idiot. "She could. Hell, she was a teacher 'fore Pop got 'is hands on 'er. She coulda taken us an' run a hunnerd times over, an' never looked back. But she was too wore down. Too scared." He scoffed. "Too scared to keep 'er damn kids safe."

Daryl's eyes filled with tears. "Dad hit her, too, Merle. Told 'er he'd kill 'er if she took off, and us, too. She was tryin' to keep us alive, only way she knew how."

"Ya think I don't know that?" Merle asked. "'S what I been tryin' ta tell ya - our blood is poison."

"Merle..."

"Why ya think we never saw Pop's old man, Daryl? Hell, him an' Grandma Dixon lived less than fifteen miles from us, but we ain't never knew what they looked like."

"Shut yer mouth..." Daryl warned him, no longer able to keep his voice down.

"We never saw 'em 'cause Ma wouldn't let us. 'Cause our old man's dad beat him, and his dad beat _him_ , and so on and so on, for gen'rations!" Merle roared. "You think ya can hide from it with all yer lofty ideas 'bout 'love' and 'family', but ya can't. We all give in after a time and when you finally do, it ain't gonna be pretty. Dixon men don't create, and they sure as shit don't build family."

"That ain't true," Daryl argued, fighting the tightness that had taken up residence in his chest and threatened to choke him. "We're brothers. We're family."

"Yeah? Look at me, little bro. I'm dead as doornails, 'cause we Dixons destroy everythin' we put our hands on. It's in our blood!"

"Just stop!" Daryl shouted. Reflexively he reached out and tried to shove Merle away, but his brother only laughed as Daryl's hands passed right through him, instead knocking over the lamp on his bedside. It toppled to the floor, where naturally the bulb shattered into pieces. He suddenly felt so exhausted that he left it there, hoping that he would remember about it in the morning _before_ he got out of bed. Thankfully, however, Merle was gone.

His chest heaving, the hunter lay back down and shut his eyes, praying that the pair sleeping in the next room hadn't heard him.

The worst part was, the longer he thought about it, the more he began to see Merle's point. Their mother had a chance to stop the cycle of abuse. She could have told someone, could have just taken them far away. Will Dixon was a hero within their small village, a friend to everyone - at least to their face - and so everyone who met him was enthralled by his magnetic personality and giving nature. But behind closed doors he was a monster, a moonshiner who cared little about his family and even less about providing for them.

But there was one thing he was not, and that was intelligent. He was calculating, yes, and clever when it came to both his business dealings and making sure his family secret stayed behind closed doors. But he would not have been smart enough to track his wife had she left, not even if she had only settled a state away. All she would have had to do was wait until he was passed out drunk on his own product, gather up her kids and take off.

Of course, that would have meant not saying goodbye to her own parents, as they undoubtedly would have asked where she was going, and she could not risk them letting it slip to Will. It would also mean giving up her teaching job, taking some menial employment that wouldn't draw too much attention to her, and that was just a sacrifice too large. Her salary was the only reason the kids weren't starving. They weren't eating steak or even chicken most days, but they had food enough.

At least, until the day she died.

Daryl turned onto his side, his hand covering his eyes as the memory of that day came rushing back. It never really left him, but after so long he had learned to be able to shove it far down enough in his mind to function as a relatively normal human being. Tonight, however, it seemed that his ghosts were determined to haunt him all at once.

He was out playing when it happened; on one of those rare afternoons when he could forget about his life at home and just be a kid for a few hours. He was with a bunch of other kids around his age, helping them stick playing cards in the spokes of the wheels so that they made a sound that if they imagined hard enough was like that of a motorcycle, then running after them as they pedaled around the parking lot of the school. The lot was empty on account of it being summer, the only obstacle they had to avoid the dumpster by the back door of the cafeteria. Suddenly, one of the older kids - a tan-skinned kid with dark hair whose real name was Ricardo but who Merle often derisively called "Spic-n-Span" - yelled at everyone to shut up. As he was their unofficial leader, being the tallest and oldest, the group quieted down at once, each kid's ears straining to hear what he had.

And then they did hear it - the sound of a fire truck's siren wailing through the hot summer air. Ricardo - or Ricky, as he liked to be called - pointed to the main road on the other side of the school, and a moment later the truck came screaming past them, all its lights flashing. The kids all hopped on their bikes, the remainder of the playing cards left abandoned and spilled across the asphalt.

"Let's go!" Another kid whose name Daryl had long since forgotten shouted, then pedaled hard to build up speed as he took off over the parking lot. The rest of the boys followed, their voices carrying on the still air as they proclaimed that they would be first to see what had happened. All except Ricky, who hung back to look at the only one in their group who didn't have a bike.

Daryl.

"You comin'?" He asked, and Daryl nodded. Satisfied with that, Ricky rode off to join the others. Daryl didn't know why he expected the kid to offer him a ride; the group he hung with was nice enough, but they were still kids - often selfish and thoughtless - and they only got worse when there was an adventure to be had.

Daryl heaved a breath and then took off at a run after his friends, watching in dismay as they slowly got further and further ahead of him until he lost sight of them completely. Two miles later he was still going, ignoring the burning in his throat and the sweat pouring into his eyes. He caught sight of Ricky once, little more than a blur of the red shirt he was wearing, and then he was gone again. Daryl kept running past the grocery store - the only one in town and which Merle had been banned from for stealing - then cut over to the alley behind the library. There was a low fence there he often hopped over, a shortcut to the street that ran parallel to his. He could still hear the siren and with each house he passed it grew louder, signalling that he was getting closer. Acrid smoke made its way to his nose now, and when he looked up over the trees he could see a billow of the same rising into the sky. He guessed that it was coming from the trailer park. _Well,_ he thought, _looks like Old Man Bridges finally blew up his house smoking while he's on oxygen_. He'd figured that would happen someday. His elderly neighbor was notorious for puffing on a Camel and taking a hit from his oxygen mask, then coughing and wheezing as he tried to exhale the combination.

His legs feeling like jelly, Daryl finally made it into the park and turned to the right, down the lane where his double-wide sat. As soon as he rounded the corner, he saw Ricky standing there, his bike still between his legs as he surveyed the scene. Daryl walked up to stand beside him, then bent over and put his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He felt Ricky's hand on his shoulder, and when Daryl looked up in surprise there was something in the older boy's gaze that set Daryl's heart racing. His mouth dry not only from running all the way home but from the sudden fear gripping him, he straightened and moved forward without realizing it. The other kids were there, and it took him a moment to comprehend that they were standing in front of his house. On _his_ lawn. Well, on the tiny patch of sparse grass and dirt that sat in front of the trailer. The fire truck was pulled across the space his father usually parked in, the ruts from his tires just visible where they ran under the side of the truck, like twin rabbit burrows. Firemen milled between the truck and the trailer, or what little was left of it. The roof had caved in, leaving only the charred walls standing, though they canted inward as if they too wanted to fall. The door was now laying flat on the front yard, split down the middle and scorched on the side the knob was on, the TV that had once sat on his mother's dresser now broken and resting beside it.

Daryl looked around, fully aware of all the looky-loos who had come out of their homes to gawk at the scene. To gawk at him. He glanced at the Bridges' place and saw the old man standing there on the porch, a deep sadness in his eyes. He shook his head slightly and then took a breath from his mask before slowly turning to go back inside. Daryl wanted to scream at him, to tell him to mind his own fucking business so he didn't blow his own goddamned house to Mars, but nothing would come out. He turned back to the house just as the firemen brought out a burnt-out mattress, little more than a frame containing misshapen springs and covered with scraps of charred black fabric. They tossed it onto the grass on the other side of the broken door, almost at Daryl's feet, and he glared at them before kneeling down and staring at it. It had once been covered with tiny blue flowers, tied in bunches and adorned with dark green ribbons. He recognized it immediately. He should; he had stared at this mattress so many times over the years, as he held his mom's hand while she cried either over Merle and his antics or because of their father's cruel hand. Sometimes, when their father was out on a three-day bender, she would let Daryl climb up in bed beside her, telling him stories of what life had been like when she was his age, of the days before she had married Will Dixon. Each time, he would try to count the bunches of flowers, but he always fell asleep before he could finish. He would wake up a short time later, his mother's arms around him as she whispered promises into his hair, promises they both knew she would never keep.

Tears began to fall before he even felt them, washing the dirt of his afternoon play from his cheeks. She was gone. Just...gone. No remains, not even the wedding ring she refused to ever take off. All the gawkers had gone, including Ricky and the other kids. Just trickled away a few at a time, shaking their heads at how terrible the situation was, leaving Daryl sitting there in the dust, smoke still hanging in the humid air. He felt a deep fear creep into his mind and then settle over him like a suffocating blanket. Daryl hadn't seen Merle for months, as he'd taken off to follow some asshole drug pusher or another. His father was in town, either working on his fifteenth beer or slumped over a bar stool sleeping it off. His grandparents - his mom's parents - were far away and had no telephone, and there was no way he was going to try and call the other set.

Daryl was alone.

It grew dark, the sun sinking behind the trees as if too tired to brighten the sky any longer. Not for the first time, he found himself sitting in the dust in front of the ruined trailer, dreading the appearance of headlights and yet simultaneously wishing for them, if only so he wouldn't be alone. He stood up when a set of lights finally did come bouncing up the lane, and then his heart turned to lead when he realized they belonged to his father's truck and not Merle's crappy hatchback. He stayed where he was as the truck swerved onto the lawn, almost hitting the pile of debris the firemen had taken from inside, then screeched to a stop. The door creaked open, and Will Dixon staggered out of the truck, his right hand still holding onto the steering wheel to help him stay upright. Daryl could hear him mutter something, and then he slammed the truck's door shut, put his hands on his hips and surveyed the ruins with bloodshot eyes.

Daryl's mouth went dry like cotton.

"The fuck happened here?" Will slurred, his head turning from left to right. Glaring down at his son, he asked, "The hell is your mother, boy?"

Timidly, his eleven-year-old frame feeling like it would break apart with the effort of putting up a calm front, Daryl replied, "Gone."

"The hell you mean, gone?"

Daryl glanced at his father, then shifted his gaze away. Staring at him too long was like a silent challenge, like when you locked eyes with a wild animal. "She..." Daryl swallowed the sob he felt clench in his throat. "She was in there." He pointed to the burned-out shell before them. "She burnt up. Must've fell asleep smokin' again."

"This some game you're playin'?" Will asked, craning his neck to look around the side of the trailer as if his wife might be hiding there.

Daryl shook his head. "No, sir."

"Where the fuck were ya, that ya let yer ma burn ta death all alone?"

"I..."

 _Well, shit_. He couldn't tell his father that he was out playing with the neighbor kids. Will Dixon forbade his sons from spending time with most of the kids around them, on account of the neighborhood kids being bad influences. It didn't matter that they were good kids, most of them from good families in the town. Once he imagined some small infraction committed by either the kid or his parents, his mind was made up. But he couldn't lie, either. Most of the town knew him by sight. If he said he was someplace he wasn't - the library, for instance - and Will questioned the lady at the front desk, he would be found out and the punishment would be at least double.

But why was his father pissed at him, treating him like this was his fault? How could he, at slightly over nine years old, be responsible for keeping his mother safe? For running the house? That was her job. His father's job. Hell, even Merle's job. He was just a kid.

Just a fucking kid.

"At the school, with the other kids," Daryl finally admitted.

Will Dixon's eyes widened, and suddenly he didn't seem so drunk anymore. Daryl began to tremble nervously.

"What'd I tell ya 'bout hangin' 'round with those little assholes?" His father asked, his hands already reaching for the belt around his waist.

Scared and exhausted, Daryl just collapsed to the ground and burst into tears, which, of course, was not proper behavior for a Dixon. It didn't matter to his father that his wife was dead, that Daryl had lost his mother. All he cared about was that Daryl had been out, being a kid.

And so, the night he lost his mother was the first time he got a beating that would leave the scars he now carried across his back.

Well, one set of them at least.

* * *

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

* * *

He hadn't dreamed of Merle in months, if not longer.

He had locked away all the memories deep inside his mind, all the good and bad times. There had been more bad memories than good ones, but he refused to think about them, willed himself to forget, and for all this time it had worked.

Until tonight.

Daryl gasped for air and sat straight up in bed, sweat beading on his bare chest and his eyes burning with unshed tears. As his heart slowed back into its regular rhythm, he looked around and saw that the sun had just begun to climb over the horizon, casting everything inside the room in a faint rosy hue.

"You okay?" A voice asked, and he jumped again as he turned his head and saw Ava standing there beside him, a knife held up and ready in her fist. When she saw the sideways glance he gave her, she set it down on the bedside table.

He let out a small sigh. "Scared the shit outta me," he grumbled. Drawing up his knees, he hooked his arms around them, and she sank down onto the mattress in the empty spot by his legs.

"Sorry," she told him, wincing as the wound at her side - now sporting a new white bandage as she had overexerted herself a few days ago and reopened it - pulled tightly with each move. "I was walkin' by and heard you shouting, so I came in to check it out. Thought a walker'd got in or something."

"Nah. Bad dream."

Ava looked at him gravely. "That's one almost every night this week. What's this one about?"

Daryl's blue eyes shifted away to the window beside the bed. "Nothin'."

She rolled her own eyes. "Daryl..."

"Don't wanna talk 'bout it," he warned.

Moving closer, she laid her hand on his jean-clad knee and suddenly he felt the tears pricking at his eyelids once more. Daryl blinked and swallowed thickly, pondering just how in the hell she had done that to him. Anyone else came in here trying to make him talk, he'd scream at them to get the fuck out and leave him alone. But Ava? All she had to do was look at him with those damned green eyes and he melted like a goddamned icicle in July. And he had no clue when that had started, either, because just a short time ago he had shut down and shouted at her, telling her that he didn't need her help.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He cleared his throat and tossed his overgrown hair out of his eyes, praying to anyone who would listen that his voice wouldn't break.

"Was more a mem'ry than a dream," he finally said. "Bad one, I guess."

"Merle?"

His gaze snapped from the window to her face then, but whatever he was expecting to see, all he actually saw there was compassion. After a long moment, he nodded. "If I coulda found a way to save 'im..."

Ava stood up and he followed her with his gaze, more than a little worried that she would leave, but she only moved to sit down on the very edge of the mattress beside him. Her arm snaked through his to curl around his chest, and he froze as she she laid her head against his bare shoulder, her chestnut hair brushing his jaw. Her voice reverberated against his skin as she said, "I'm sorry. It must've been hard."

"It was me, killed him. I...had ta be me."

She nodded. "Because you're his brother. It's only right."

"I just wish..."

"We all do," she interrupted. "Nothing worse than losing family."

His breath hitched in his chest then, and she ignored the tension in his body as she hugged him tighter, as if she could draw his pain into herself.

"Want this ta be over," he said, his gruff voice full of sadness, and when she looked up she could see that a tear had escaped and slipped down his cheek. "Tired of bein' alone."

Ava moved to reach up and brush the tear away but stopped when he flinched at her raised hand. Understanding what was happening, she deliberately slowed her movements until her hand was lightly pressed against his cheek, and he surprised her by leaning into her touch. "I know," she told him. "I want it to be over, too."

They stayed that way - Ava with her arms around him and Daryl fighting the empty feeling in his chest - for so long that her fingers began to tingle numbly. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, motor oil mixed with grass and the cheap soap they'd hoarded from a drugstore, grateful that at last he had allowed her so close, not only physically but emotionally. He'd been a tough nut to crack, unwilling to entertain the chance of being hurt or betrayed, keeping everyone but Rick - who he thought of as just as close a brother as Merle - at arms' length. She wondered why it was that he had let her in now, what had changed.

"Been survivin' so long, 'stead of livin'," she heard him say as his muscles finally relaxed and he slumped back against the wall. "Runnin' and fightin' since I's a kid."

"The world's changed so much these past few years," she agreed. "There's not much time to think." She chuckled. "Knock on wood, this week's been the quietest it's been since this all started."

"Ya think it's too late? Ta think?"

"About what?"

He shrugged, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. "I dunno. Everything. The future."

Ava shook her head. "Guess not. Kinda hard to date, nowadays, though."

"Yeah."

She sat up and shook her sleeping arm, grimacing at the pins and needles. "So what d'you think, Daryl? You ever think about finding someone to settle down with, or something?"

His eyes gazed softly down at her and he hesitated a moment before gently stroking his fingers down her cheek. Her numb hand dropping forgotten to her side, Ava looked up at him with a question in her eyes. The tip of his tongue touched his bottom lip then ran across it, and he breathed, "Or somethin'."

Her heart racing, she watched as he bent his head and gently brushed his mouth against hers, his hand cradling her lower jaw. She was unsure of what to do at first, whether this was some elaborate trick or a dream or even a hallucination, but when she laid her hands against his chest she found that he was solid and warm and _real_ , and so she closed her eyes and kissed him back. His calloused hands moved to grasp her shoulders and pull her closer, kept pulling until she was sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him, his lips never losing contact with hers.

"Daryl," she breathed against his mouth, but he only kissed her harder before trailing his lips up her neck toward her ear.

"Don't," he whispered in between kisses on her velvet earlobe. "Please."

"I just didn't..."

"Do now," he said simply, and she nodded.

Then his mouth was on hers again, and it felt so good she wrapped her fingers in his hair and kissed him as hard as she could, grinning as she felt his hands go still on her arms, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. She dragged her lips across his cheek to his lower jaw, pressing tiny kisses all along it to the spot below his ear and feeling his breath come in sharp gasps.

His fingers dug into her biceps then, squeezing once before they let go to skim up under the back of her shirt, and she moaned at the heat his fingertips left along her spine. Ava returned the gesture, running her nails lightly down his bare chest, and was rewarded by a sharp gasp and him nipping at the skin along her collarbone. Forgetting her wounded side, she ground her hips against his, throwing her head back as her mouth dropped open. Daryl suddenly stopped moving, instead wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. He buried his face in her neck, his hot breath tickling her sensitive skin as he fought to control himself.

"I...I can't..." he said into her shoulder. "M' sorry."

Ava felt his body trembling and frowned in confusion. He definitely wanted it, wanted her, and he didn't seem like the type to refrain from taking what he wanted. So what was stopping him? Taking his face in her hands, she pulled him back so she could look in his eyes.

"Daryl? What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he tried, licking lips that had suddenly gone dry. When he realized that wouldn't work, he inhaled deeply and muttered, "It's...I...ain't no good at this."

Her gaze softened. "You _have_ done it, though?"

"Course I have. Jesus," he answered quickly, offended that she had even asked. Then his blue eyes shifted to the bed sheets underneath them. "Jus'...been a long time...an' yer hurt..."

Ava felt her heart squeeze in her chest, and she gently put her hand on the back of his neck and leaned forward to press her lips against his forehead. As she drew away, she said, "It's okay. We don't have to."

"I _want_ ta," he insisted, and she smiled softly at him.

"I know. Time's not right, is all."

"I want it t' mean somethin'. Not just scratchin' an itch." He looked at her through his bangs. "Ya mad?"

Ava shook her head. "No. I get it. It's okay."

He sighed in relief and hugged her to himself again, and Ava huffed out a laugh as her nose was squashed against his chest. He made a surprised sound and jerked to the side as her breath puffed against his skin, and her eyes flew to his face. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she asked, "Ticklish?"

"Tell anyone and yer dead," he rumbled and then gave her a smirk.

Ava laughed again. "I won't. And you wouldn't dare."

His eyebrow lifted. "Makes you say that?"

"You like me," she replied with a half-shrug.

He was quiet for a long time, so long that she sat up so she could see his whole face. Suddenly nervous and a little self-conscious, she pulled the blanket around herself despite being fully dressed. "Don't you?" She asked softly.

His blue eyes bright in the full morning light, he put his hands on either side of her face and stared right into her eyes. "Yeah."

The smile she gave him rivaled the brightest sun. She moved off of his lap and lay on her side facing him, Daryl shifting further over to make room for her. His arm curled around her waist, keeping her close even though it was not necessary. There was nowhere she would rather be than there with him. Blinking lazily, he gazed at every inch of her face, each freckle and mark etched into his memory. She blushed under his scrutiny. He was far from what she would've chosen as her "ideal" man, at least years ago before the world had gone to hell. Back in Los Angeles she had dated much different men - lawyers and white-collar businessmen on their way up the corporate ladder. But now, looking back, she realized that none of their money or aspirations were worth a damn. Daryl wasn't big on words or emotions or much of anything besides killing walkers and watching Rick's back, but in this world loyalty and strength were what mattered, and he had those in spades. She wondered what any of her old boyfriends would do now, if they had even survived this long. Something told her that none of them could last a minute against Daryl.

"Hear ya thinkin'," he muttered, and she looked up at his face, surprised to see that his eyes were closed now.

"Keeping you awake?" She asked.

Daryl grunted, then sighed. His eyes still closed, he asked, "Somethin' wrong?"

"No. Just thinking."

"Bout what?"

She huffed out a breath. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "About what just happened."

Now his eyes opened. "You mad...?"

"No!" She said quickly, her hand running over his hair in reassurance. "No. Just...I never thought you felt that way...about me."

He paused a moment to comprehend her words, as exhaustion was edging its way over his mind and body. Then, he replied, "Ain't none of us knows how long we got left. Wasted a lot of time hidin' what I felt fer people, and then they 're dead and never knew."

"When did she die?" Ava asked perceptively.

Daryl sighed. "Few years back." He huffed a humorless laugh. "In a hospital."

"She your girlfriend?"

Now he scoffed, causing her to wrinkle her brow in confusion. "No. Just...she was just a friend. You remind me of 'er, though. Got them big, wide eyes like she did. She wasn't afraid of me, neither. Even when I yelled at 'er, said mean things to 'er.

"She was just a kid, but she was startin' to get me, y'know? Open me up and figger out why I'm so screwed up inside."

"Because of your parents?"

"Probably. They...they weren't...good people."

"They hurt you," she guessed, her heart squeezing for him and what she could only imagine he had gone through. She had seen the scars on his back a few times, once at Sanctuary when he thought she was sleeping and another time when he had gotten his shirt caught in Chloe's sling and it pulled away from his shoulder, and though they looked skin-deep she knew they ran clear through to his soul. Back at the Sanctuary she had assumed that Negan or one of his lackeys had inflicted them upon him, but once she saw them up close and saw how old they were, she knew that wasn't possible. Anger blazed through her then; what would he have become if they had not abused him? Would that tough exterior still have formed; would that sudden rage swirl just below the surface as it did now?

"I lived," he said by way of a reply, but Ava could only shut her eyes and curl her arm around him tighter, whispering his name softly. Daryl pressed his lips to her forehead, then closed his eyes. "Sleep," he muttered. "Busy day ahead."

She lay there awake long after he had drifted off, her eyes staring unseeingly up at the ceiling and her heart breaking for his younger self. He must have been so afraid and confused, wondering what he had done to make his parents hurt him and how not to do it next time. She wished she could go back in time and protect him from everything.

Like he had protected her from Negan.

She reached up and gently laid her hand on his grizzled cheek, tears pricking her eyelids. He had risked his life for her, went up against the threat of Lucille's barbed wire with nothing to defend himself but his legendary scowl and his bare hands. As another wave of tenderness washed over her, Ava leaned forward and lightly kissed his mouth, and when she pulled back she saw that though he was still asleep his lips curved up in a smile.

It was only for a moment, but it was long enough.

"You're not alone," she whispered to him. Then, she curled up beside him and let sleep pull her into its embrace.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

* * *

It was two-thirty AM, and Daryl couldn't sleep. Chloe was off at Aunt Maggie's again, enjoying a night of pampering he was sure no baby had ever experienced before. He couldn't imagine that Glenn was happy about it, but Maggie insisted that she needed the practice, so her husband wisely gave in.

 _Happy wife, happy life._

He'd heard that saying a lot, growing up, but that was in the world before, when the most worrisome thing a couple faced was how to afford their first home. Before the dead rose and the living were forced to run.

The only couple he could ask was, well, Maggie and Glenn. No one else he knew was married. Not anymore. Well, and Rick had Michonne, but they weren't married.

Yet.

Daryl quietly slipped outside and stuck a cigarette from a pack he'd salvaged on a run the week before between his lips. He searched his pockets for his lighter but came up empty, and he sighed as he remembered seeing it a few hours ago on the kitchen table, next to the very same pack he had pulled the cigarette from. He was so tired he must've missed seeing it there this time. Before he could turn to go back inside he heard the click of the Zippo's lid, then the distinctive scratch of the striker. As the flame sparked to life, he saw Ava's face illuminated behind it.

"Hope you don't mind," she said as she took a drag off a cigarette she had "borrowed" from his pack, already smoked down to half. "Been jonesin' for a while."

"Too late now, ain't it?" He asked, but there was no bite behind the question, and she smiled and nodded her head.

"Guess so."

"Well."

Daryl leaned forward and lit his cigarette in the flame, and she shut the lid and handed the lighter to him. He slipped it into his shirt pocket and came to stand beside her, his shoulder leaning against the outside of the house.

"It's late," she said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

He shot her a look that said "Thanks, Captain Obvious," but instead muttered, "Couldn't sleep."

"Do you ever?"

Daryl shrugged. "Not like before. Few minutes, maybe n' hour at a time."

"What keeps you up?" She asked. "Walkers?"

"Partly," he admitted. "Rest is the looters. Saviors. Wolves. Bad people."

She nodded in understanding. "Not many good people anymore." She took another long drag and then said, "Sometimes I wonder if there's any, outside of here and the Kingdom."

"There are," Daryl told her. "Just haven't found 'em yet."

"Not like you and your people." She ashed her smoke, then held it between her thumb and pointer finger, squishing the filter slightly. "They missed you a lot when you were at the Sanctuary."

He ducked his head shyly. "Yeah, well. Got a place here, responsibility."

"They depend on you."

"Some do, yeah."

"Like Rick?"

He nodded. "Rick's m' brother. Treats me better 'n Merle ever did."

"Judith does call you 'Uncle Daryl'."

She saw his lips curve up in a smile then. "Judith...she..." He cleared his throat and said, "I's there when she 's born. She's one of the only things kept us goin' sometimes."

"How come?" Ava asked as she flicked the butt into the "street" that was really just a dirt path between patches of grass.

He took a moment to choose his words. "Well, fer one, she 's a helpless lil baby, so we had t' protect 'er. And she's so innocent, with them big eyes full of hope. Guess it gave us hope, too, y'know?"

"Yeah. Kids have a way of coping with things that'd make most adults curl up in a ball and shut down. They just keep living."

"So what 'bout you?"

She frowned. "What _about_ me?"

He inhaled on his cigarette , then breathed out the smoke as he asked, "What kept you goin'?"

Ava thought about that as she turned and sat on the top rail. Her legs, clad in cut-off jean shorts, swung out and back, and her hands gripped the rail so tight her knuckles whitened. "I guess something in me hoped there was someone out there who was still good. Someone who wasn't out to hurt anyone else.

"I thought I found them before. The group I joined out of Nevada, they seemed great at first. They weren't as warm as this one, but they seemed glad to have me."

"What happened?"

She gave a short laugh as the memory of those days came back to her. "They usually scavenged for supplies like we do now. Y'know, making runs to grocery stores and abandoned towns." Daryl nodded. "But then one day we went out and came across some others. Just a small group of six, with a little kid. They were on their way home after a run, and our guys, they pulled weapons on them and demanded their stuff."

"All of it?"

She nodded. "They even took the kid's toy truck."

"Christ," Daryl breathed, tossing his cigarette butt onto the hard-packed dirt.

"I left the next day. They wouldn't listen to reason. Thought they didn't do anything wrong."

"What 'bout the other group? The next one?"

"Kind of had the same deal as Negan. Wanted women to join 'em so the lead guy could have his own little family cult. Said they were 'chosen' to start the world over." She scoffed. "When I wouldn't sleep with him he tied me up and sold me to Negan in exchange for a ten percent discount in his cut." Daryl moved closer to her as she softly said, "Made me wonder if it was me. My fault. Like I was giving off some kind of skank vibe or something."

"Ain't you," he assured her. "Those assholes 'r scummier 'n a sewer pipe in July."

She laughed, but it came out huskier than usual, and when Daryl saw the sheen of tears in her eyes he understood why.

"C'mere," he said as he gently took her hands and pulled her to her feet, then folded her against his chest. His shirt smelled like motor oil and smoke and everything she thought a man should smell like. It would have been sexy if she wasn't on the verge of breaking down. His voice rumbled in her ear as he said, "Ain't yer fault."

"I wish I could find that little boy and say sorry. I wish we hadn't left him crying by the side of the road..."

Daryl's hand came up to rest against the back of her head. "Can't beat yerself up 'bout it. It's done."

"I know but I can't help it," she said as her tears broke through. "He had one good thing in this fucked up world, and we took it from 'im."

"Think you coulda stopped 'em?"

She shook her head. "No. Probably would've killed me."

"Then it ain't yer fault," he said again. He held her there under the full moon until her sniffling stopped, his cheek resting lightly on her hair and his hands slowly rubbing up and down her arms.

After a while, Ava tipped her head up to look at him. "You have regrets? Stuff you did you wish you could take back?"

Daryl nodded. "'Course. But the past has to stay dead, else it'll kill ya."

"But..."

"We're here. Together. Got a family that we look out fer, and who looks out fer us. Gotta keep livin'."

She nodded in understanding, then yawned behind her hand. "We should get some sleep. Gotta be around 3 by now."

"G'head," he replied, gesturing toward the front door with his head. "Imma stay out a minute."

Knowing it was pointless to argue, Ava nodded. "Okay. G'night."

"Night."

Ava slowly opened the screen door, knowing just how far to go to keep it from squeaking as it was loud enough to wake the neighbors, then stepped through the kitchen and down the hall to the guest bedroom. She flipped on the light and walked across the hardwood floor, kicking off her shoes as she went. She stopped and stood still for a moment, savoring the feel of the cool floorboards under her bare toes. In contrast, the air in the room was warm and slightly stale, so she went over to the window and tried to push it up. The frame was swollen due to the heat and humidity, and it groaned loudly even though she had only opened it a matter of inches. She bent her knees a little to get better leverage and tried again, but it seemed to be stuck. On her third attempt, she was pushing up on the frame when the pane suddenly shattered, glass littering the sill and floor below while a few shards remained stuck in the frame. Unprepared for the jolt of the window sliding up another inch, her hand slipped off the frame and into the empty space. She felt a sting on her hand as she pulled back, and when she looked down she saw multiple slices in her skin that were quickly turning red.

"Ava?" Daryl's voice said from the doorway, and she spun to face him, one hand clutching the wrist of the other and her eyes wide in surprise. She had not even heard the front door slam, much less his footsteps across the creaky floorboards in the hall, but she supposed that was by design. He looked at her first, then the window and finally at the floor, then said, "Don't move. Get all cut up."

She nodded silently at him, then checked her hand again. Blood was beginning to run through her fingers and down her wrist, and she tried to keep from panicking at the sight. She had never quite gotten used to the sight of blood. It made her feel faint.

Weak.

" _You're weak. Some kind of sick joke, God givin' me a girl..."_

She shook her head to clear away the memory.

"Too late for that," she said as she tilted her head toward her arm.

Daryl quickly picked his way over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, then lifted her out of the littered glass and walked a few feet to the bed, her body dangling in his grasp. Setting her down gently, he pulled out his red rag and handed it to her. "Put it 'round yer wrist. Press tight n' keep yer arm 'bove yer heart. Be right back."

He left the room, and Ava did as he instructed. When he returned, one arm wrapped around a plastic basin filled with warm water and a few other items tucked under the other, she said, "I'm sorry, Daryl."

He shook his head and sat down on the bed beside her. "Nothin' t' be sorry fer. Was an accident."

She watched him unwrap the rag from her arm, then wet a clean cloth in the basin and carefully dab at her cuts. When he'd cleaned them as much as possible, he inspected her arm closely to make sure there were no glass slivers left in her skin, then released her hand to unscrew the cap on a bottle filled with clear liquor. The slashes of red came back, but not as quickly as before, and only a few drops of blood collected along them, running down her arm to drip into the basin.

"Keep it over the tub," he directed her next. "Gonna sting a bit."

"Maybe I should go see the doc," she suggested with a nervous smile. "He probably has antiseptic and bandages..."

He shook his head. "Nah. Been usin' the same vodka I got."

She looked at his face to gauge his honesty, but his eyes were serious. She blew out a breath. "You know it's the apocalypse when doctors are takin' medical supplies from hunters."

If she had blinked she would have missed the flash of a grin on his lips. Still, he managed to sound irritated as he grumbled, "Hold still, would ya?"

She nodded and did as he asked. "Okay. I'm ready."

Daryl carefully tilted the bottle of alcohol and let a thin stream wash over her wounds.

She definitely was not ready.

Ava closed her eyes, her lips drawn in a tight line as the liquor came into contact with her broken skin, and when she paled and began to rock back and forth on the bed he watched her closely to make sure she didn't pass out. Thankfully she remained upright, and after a brief moment her color slowly began to seep back into her cheeks. When he was done he set the bottle on the floor, and she opened her eyes as he wrapped her arm with another clean cloth, tying the ends on the top side of her wrist.

"Stay here," he told her. "I'll clean this up."

"I'm so sorry," she said again.

Daryl stood up and picked up the basin, tossing the dirty rags into it. His voice came out more gruff than he wanted it to as he said, "Stop. 'S okay."

He left the room, and she stayed on the bed staring at the broken window. The breeze blowing through the empty sill was warm, which was lucky for her as she wouldn't need an extra blanket, but undoubtedly there would be bugs that would find their way in.

When had she managed to become so accident-prone? Or maybe the question should have been, when had she let herself become so vulnerable, after all these years of surviving on her own? In the space of a few months she had been captured and basically sold as a sex slave, had her head smashed into a wall, threw up and had a panic attack, was nearly eaten by walkers and stabbed in the side, and now she had gotten her wrist all slashed up by glass. Funny, but Daryl had been there for most of those, and with barely a word he had taken care of her. He had protected her and never once asked for anything in return; hell, even when she had offered herself to him he had shut her down. And that was fine with her, it really was, especially since he had done it so reluctantly, so gently. She just wondered when he was going to let someone take care of him.

Someone beside himself.

He had been on his own for a long time as well, had learned how to survive with no one to watch over him, and it hurt to think that besides this group, he had no one to turn to. And even then, he tried to keep them at a comfortable distance. He protected them, he cared for them, but when they drew too close to him he took off like a whipped puppy.

"There 's a girl," his voice said then, and Ava looked up to see him standing there in the doorway. "Sophia. She...she got scared, run off. We looked for 'er. But she 's already dead, turned into a walker."

He stepped into the room and set a broom and dustpan against the wall, then settled himself against the other side of the door frame. "I couldn't find 'er. Lost 'er track in the woods. Her ma, Carol, she was grateful I tried, but I...I didn't find 'er."

"But you didn't give up," Ava said. "You kept looking."

"Didn't matter. She's in a barn full of them things the whole time." He grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the glass. "When I saw 'er, come staggerin' out the barn...Felt like I's gonna puke. We went through so much, lookin' for 'er. Almost got killed twice...After that I told m'self I didn't need that kinda trouble anymore."

Ava smiled. "Didn't quite work out, did it?"

"Nah. That's why I..." he blushed and ducked his head, his shaggy hair hiding his face as he concentrated on the floor. "I didn't wanna get too close and then lose ya."

"Well," she replied, holding up her bandaged wrist, "with the way my luck is goin', I'm gonna get taken out by a stray bolt of lightning, rather than getting bit or whatever."

He huffed a sigh. "Stop."

"I'm just saying..."

"Well, don't," he snapped. "That shit ain't funny."

Her smile faded. Reaching out her hand, she snagged him by the wrist and pulled him close to her. "Daryl. I'm gonna try my hardest not to go anywhere. Chloe needs me, and although you're entirely too proud to admit it, I think you do, too."

He looked at her then. Not just the momentary glance he usually gave her, but really stared at her as if he could see every molecule that she was made of. She barely breathed, afraid to even blink lest his inner wall go back up. Part of her wanted to ask him what he saw, but the rest of her was afraid to hear what he would say.

Finally, he leaned down further and took her face in his hands, then gently kissed her lips. It was soft and sweet, little more than a friendly peck, and before she had a chance to register what was happening it was already over.

"Better not go nowhere," he said when he stood back up. "Cuz I sure as shit ain't changin' no more diapers."

She grinned, running her tongue along her lips and memorizing the taste and feel of his mouth on hers. Daryl saw, though he pretended not to. He had a hard enough time just breathing when she was around; watching her lick her lips was beginning to send him into treacherous territory.

"I wasn't aware you'd changed any," she said with a cheeky grin.

He nodded as he finished sweeping up the glass, his dark hair hiding his flushed cheeks. "Judith's, mostly. That girl was nasty."

Ava laughed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, Chloe's just as gross."

It didn't, but he didn't tell her that. Instead he collected the shards into a dustpan and then dumped them into a wastebasket lined with a plastic shopping bag.

"All set," he told her. "Wouldn't walk 'round here without shoes on fer a while, just in case."

"Thanks, Daryl."

"Ain't nothin."

"Night."

"Yep."

With that, he left. Ava lay down, but sleep was the farthest thing from her mind.

She was still awake hours later, contemplating all that had happened since the Turn.

Everyone she had known was gone. Her roommate in LA had fallen ill and died, then turned, and that had hit her pretty hard. Nikki had been her friend since 9th grade; they'd both moved there from New York to work in a large catering business, one that contracted with a film company. Every day, they got up and went to the soundstage, serving delicious food to movie stars. It had been a dream come true for Ava, who had been in love with both cooking and acting, though she was much better at the former. But, a close third love of hers was taking care of others, and she derived plenty of joy from the smiles and compliments of those she fed, satisfied to know that she had made them happy.

Her parents were dead, too, but she wasn't sorry about that. They were not model parents by any means - she was told she was useless or a disappointment almost daily. Punished for the smallest things, whether real or imagined, forbidden to have friends and forced to do all the daily chores around the house, she only kept her sanity by reading books. All kinds of books. Fiction, non-fiction, biographies...even encyclopedias were devoured a volume at a time.

Nikki had never known about Ava's life at home until they had been in LA for six months, and the only reason behind the truth was a bottle of wine. When she finally did find out, Nikki had hugged her and told her how awful it all was, that she was sorry Ava had such shitty parents.

"On the bright side," she had said as Ava wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands, "at least it wasn't physical."

Exhausted and ashamed, Ava didn't have the heart to reveal the truth about that.

 _She was sixteen, and her father was drunk. He slipped into her room and leaned over her, the smell of the alcohol strong enough to make her want to gag, but she didn't dare. She kept her eyes closed and wished he would go away, but her silent plea fell on deaf ears. His hand pressed down heavily on her thigh, his fingers pushing under her pajama shorts.._.

 _Stop it_ , she told herself. _Like Daryl said, it's done._ Sitting up, she saw that it was fully light outside, so she grabbed her things and slipped out of the trailer, heading to the main house to take a shower.

* * *

He ran through the field, disturbing butterflies so that they fluttered around him in a whirlwind. He barely felt the grass catching at him, green dusty pollen striping his dark clothes, mirroring the wounds on his back. His breath came in great heaving sobs, eyes blinded with tears as he kept running, his hands over his ears to block out the shouts. He was almost to the woods; he could see the silver trunks of the beech trees shining in the evening sun, their dark green leaves beckoning him to come and hide among them. Daryl wiped his arm across his face and kept moving, his bare feet protesting his quick retreat as they ground against sticks and thorns hidden in the tall grass, but he couldn't stop now. He had to get away. If Merle was here he would have protected him, would have dragged him onto the back of his motorcycle and driven him somewhere...

Somewhere else. Not necessarily somewhere _safe;_ Daryl wasn't sure such a place existed anymore, especially with the people his brother hung with, but anywhere was better than home.

But Merle wasn't here.

He had done what Daryl would sell his soul to do. He had run away. He got out.

Daryl's tears came again, hot and stinging in his blue eyes.

Merle had left him behind. He knew what life was like here, and he just left. There was no one left to protect Daryl from the angry fists of their father. From the beatings and the scars and the broken bones.

He hated his father, for all those reasons and more. He hated his mom for burning herself to death in their house. He hated Merle for abandoning him.

But most of all, he hated himself for existing.

 _Maybe..._ he thought as he finally broke into the cool underbrush of the forest and found a tree to climb. Maybe it would be better if he didn't, anymore.

He shimmied up the trunk into the highest branches, feeling them sway dangerously under his weight, but it didn't scare him. He'd been climbing trees since he was old enough to walk. He knew just how to shift himself on the limbs, how much each one could take before breaking, and so he was able to make his way to the very top, his head just breaking the canopy to survey the trees from above.

Daryl could still hear the echoes of his father's voice, screaming his name, but he remained where he was. Dad was drunk; he'd pass out soon enough and then - only then - would Daryl climb down and slip into the house, creeping down to his room to collapse into bed. He'd wake up early tomorrow and head off to school before his dad roused from his stupor, and by the time he came back home his dad would be gone, down in town getting piss drunk once again.

Watching an eagle soar over the trees, Daryl tried to remember a time when his father hadn't been drunk, but he was having a hard time thinking of one. Maybe before his mom died? He shook his head. No. He remembered those days, too, and they were just as terrible as now.

 _Why, why did Merle leave?_ He asked himself. _Why did he leave when he knew...?_

Merle wasn't a perfect brother by any means; he was in and out of juvie, always running into trouble with whichever gang of townies or drug dealers he had joined up with. And even he had knocked Daryl around enough for the younger brother to understand that despite how much Merle said he hated their dad, someday he would be just like him. If he wasn't already.

But regardless of all those things, Daryl still loved him. He didn't always _like_ who his brother was, but he loved him.

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, he tried to ignore the fact that the smear left behind was still mostly red and then shook his head resolutely. Not him. Not Daryl fucking Dixon. He would die before he hurt a kid, much less his own, and that was if he got lucky and found a girl who would lower her standards enough to settle down with him. He wouldn't hit her, neither.

He didn't find that likely, though. No one would bother marrying him. Trailer trash; that's what the kids at school called the Dixon family. Most of the people in town still counted it a mystery and miracle that Will Dixon had managed to find their mother, and somehow convince her to marry him. Even crazier - they quietly gossiped in the grocery store aisles - was that she had agreed to have children with him. A 'Shiner like him, living in a run-down shack on the edge of the trailer park, with an elementary school teacher who could have run for Miss Georgia and won? It was unheard of. To many of their "neighbors", it was unholy.

And besides, he doubted he would be able to sit still long enough to settle down. He loved it out here in the forest too much, hunting and just listening to nature. Learning the habits of the animals he collected for dinner, finding out which was the best wood for a long-lasting fire, those were his hobbies. He didn't deserve a girl. No, not a girl. Merle called 'em girls. A _woman_ , he corrected. They were too pretty; Daryl knew that if he ever got the chance to get close to one they'd be poisoned instantly, tainted by the evil family curse he carried. Women were a mystery to him, like the white buck his brother told him existed in this forest. Legendary creatures he was destined to chase after but never reach. Still, he longed to be wanted, to find that someone else needed him around.

Merle didn't need him, and their father sure as hell didn't. Didn't even notice when he had run off and got lost in the woods a few years back, that when he finally dragged himself back into the house he was covered in poison oak and mosquito bites, his arms scratched up from a thicket of thorns he'd pushed through twice - once to find food and again to find his way home.

Daryl snorted at that. This was no home. A house, maybe, although even that word didn't quite accurately describe the double-wide trailer stuck up on a couple cinder blocks. It was just a place, a building with four walls and a ceiling - well, most of one. A torture chamber their dad had moved them into, directly across the street from the one they'd lived in before the fire, the one his mom had died in. Daryl hated everything about this trailer; the disgusting carpet inside, the broken steps his father had made out of a splintered wooden pallet, the leaky sink in the bathroom. He hated it there. He didn't belong there.

He didn't belong anywhere.

He wished he was old enough to take off, like Merle had. Just pack a bag and run off, live on his own in the woods. He knew how to hunt and fish, and starting a fire was easy. He could boil water on it, and cook whatever he killed. He'd be just fine.

It finally grew dark, and he ducked back down below the crowns of leaves and pulled a length of rope out of his pocket. He tied it around his waist and then secured it around the tree, lashing himself to it in case the branches beneath him broke. Despite the welts burning on his back he leaned against the tree and felt sleep slowly tugging him into her black embrace. He fought it for a while, terrified that he would be found, but then logic told him that there was no way his father was climbing a tree - drunk or not. Besides, with his dark clothes on he blended into the thick canopy. No one besides a raccoon or possum would find him up here, and he wasn't afraid of them. Finally, he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him for a while, peacefully drifting through oblivion, his brain so exhausted that it was unable to conjure up his usual nightmares.

Daryl jerked awake some time later, as a few stray drops of rain from a passing cloud spattered his face. Wiping them away, he sat up and turned around on his perch to look toward where he knew the trailer sat. The air was quiet, the only sound the crickets and katydids in the overgrown field. He glanced up at the position of the moon in the sky and guessed it was around eleven PM. _Dad's probably passed out in front of the TV,_ he thought _. Time to go._ Slowly, he made his way back down, his bare feet finding the branches he had used to get up, and within moments he was standing on the forest floor. He walked slowly through the field this time, taking the time to inhale the scent of the grass he crushed under his feet, listening to the insects sing to each other. His hand reached out and brushed across the stiff Indian grass, their tips turning fuzzy as they prepared to germinate. He wondered how he was going to hide the black eye he felt forming on his right side, and when he realized that he had no way to do that, he tried to think of something to tell the teachers when they asked.

And they _would_ ask.

They always did.

"I ran into a door," worked only so many times before they either thought you were a liar or an idiot.

Well, he could play at being an idiot. It would be easy enough for him - everyone at school already thought he was a dummy anyway - just because he kept his mouth shut and his head down, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. That wasn't stupid, he reasoned; if anything, Merle's endless fighting was stupid. It was better to stay quiet, keep off everyone's radar. Running your mouth got you beat up.

He should know.

He had the marks to prove it.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the shadow fall over him, didn't know he wasn't alone until a sharp jab to his ribs made him gasp for air and fall to his knees. As soon as he had fallen he was being dragged back up onto his feet by his shaggy hair. The pungent aroma of beer filled his nostrils, and then a meaty fist connected with the side of his face. Blood again poured from his nose down his lips and chin, and his vision swam not only from the hit, but with tears.

"Where'd ya go, ya little shit?" Will Dixon asked his son as he threw him on the ground. "Huh? Where'd ya go ya couldn't hear me callin'?"

"N...nowhere," Daryl stammered, his fingers curling into the dirt as if he could start digging to the other side of the earth. He knew he shouldn't answer at all - nothing he said would be enough to satisfy his father - but he couldn't help it. He hadn't done anything to deserve this. But with Will, it seemed that Daryl just existing was reason enough.

"How many times I gotta tell ya, ya come when I call?" Will snarled, and once again reached down to grab his son by the shirt. Daryl instinctively flinched away, his arms coming up to protect his face, and he knew then he had made a terrible mistake.

"I'm sorry!" Daryl cried as his father took a menacing step toward him. "Dad...I'm sorry."

Fingers cruelly dug into his throat as he was once again hauled to his feet and half-dragged into the house. He barely saw his surroundings change as he was propelled through the front door and into the "living" room, every object on the porch little more than a flash of color - the red blur that was the gas can, a flash of black barbecue grill, a peek of Merle's silver baseball bat - and then he tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor, his bloody nose brushing the dirt-crusted carpet. He heard the front door slam shut, shaking the whole trailer, and then the dreaded sound of a metal buckle being undone reached his ears.

Daryl left himself prone on the floor, all strength to fight back having left his thin frame. His back muscles already twitching from his previous assault, limbs trembling as he waited for the inevitable, he silently wept, begging for someone to help...

He woke to a soft hand gently placed on his cheek, a whispered voice calling his name, and in his half-awake fog he said, "Ma?"

Then he opened his eyes and saw Ava there, her eyebrows knitted in concern.

"You're okay," she told him. "It's just a nightmare."

He couldn't stop a sob from escaping him as he wrapped his arms around her, his forehead pressed hard into her shoulder. Ava hugged him back, her hand stroking his hair over and over. She said nothing else, but that was okay with him. He didn't need her to say anything. He needed to be close to someone, someone who wasn't trying to hurt him.

Her other hand was on his back, fingers curling in and out as if she were scratching it though only the pads of her fingers moved over his shirt, hesitating the slightest bit whenever she felt one of his scars through the fabric. Daryl sank into her embrace, leaning as much of his weight on her as he thought she could take. He would have pulled away when she touched his marked back, had done so every other time someone had even seen them, but he was so tired. A part of him wanted to give up and just lie down, accept whatever terrible fate he had coming, but another told him that he needed to fight. Not just for himself but Judith and Chloe, for Ava and Rick and all the others.

He just didn't know if he was strong enough.

"You are," Ava whispered, and he froze as he realized he'd spoken that last thought aloud. Her hands slowly moved to his face and tipped it up to look at her. "Daryl, you're the strongest man I know."

He slipped out of her grasp and moved to lie on his back, letting out a breath he was only marginally aware of holding. Ava turned onto her side with her hand lightly tracing patterns across his chest. He ground his palms into his eyes to wipe away the tears that lingered there and then stared blearily up at the ceiling.

"Ya have a house, growin' up?" He asked, and he felt her nod against his shoulder.

"Yeah. It wasn't much bigger than a refrigerator box, and just as flimsy, but..."

"I never did," he told her. "Lived in a trailer m' whole life."

"The same one?"

He shook his head. "Nah. When my mom died in th' first one, burned it to a shell, me Merle and Dad moved just 'cross the way. Ev'ry time I looked out th' window I saw where she died."

Ava snuggled closer to him, her nose pressed into his bicep.

"Kids made fun of me an' Merle. Made jokes 'bout it. Merle used ta get mad, got in a lot of fights. Few years later, they fin'lly tore down what was left. Put up a new one and moved 'nother family in. Made friends with th' oldest kid. Seemed lonely like me, so..."

He pulled in a breath and tried to drive away the empty feeling in his chest, but it crowded back harder, weighing heavy in his ribs.

"Neighborhood kids told 'em what happened, what was there 'fore his trailer, an' then 'cuz he wanted t' get in good with them, he started in on me, too. Teasin' me an' callin' me all kinds of names. Tellin' me my ma's probably on a spit in Satan's kitchen..."

Ava's arm around him squeezed him then, so hard it almost hurt. "I'm so sorry," she murmured against his arm, "That was terrible of them."

"Never wanted nothin' 'cept ta be left alone. Not be beaten ev'ry night, thrown through windows..."

"Is that what you were dreamin' about?" She asked, and when he nodded she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Scars on m' back 're from m' dad's belt buckle. Tore me up so bad they bled for two days. Got a fever, dunno how high but I puked a bunch of times. Couldn't even keep water down."

"You never went for stitches? Antibiotics?"

Daryl snorted. "An' let everyone in town know Will Dixon fucked his kid up almost nightly? Ain't happenin'. He poured some alcohol on, slapped some gauze on it and told me to quit bein' such a pussy, then left to get shitfaced. I thought I was gonna die, right there in a puddle of blood n' puke n' booze on the kitchen floor...

"I cleaned it all up, dragged m'self to my room and passed out. Woke up three days later to someone bangin' on th' door. Thought it was gonna be cops, school called 'em cuz I wasn't there...but it 's just one of dad's drinkin' buddies checkin' t' be sure I wasn't dead, askin' for money Dad owed him." He scoffed again. "Like there's any money he didn't spend on booze, even though he fuckin' made moonshine in th' shed!"

He dug at his eyes with his palms again, and she raised herself up on her elbow and leaned over his face. "It's no wonder you have a hard time trusting people. You have no idea how bad I wish I could go back in time and keep you from going through all that pain."

The sadness in her eyes gnawed even deeper at the hole in his heart. He didn't know what to do with it, and that made him angry. He _should_ know. Anyone else with two brain cells to rub together would know. Why didn't he know?

Pushing her away, he sat up and said, "Don't need ya t' feel sorry fer me."

She rolled her eyes, but he didn't see as he had his head turned toward the window. "Maybe not," she told him as she also sat up. "But you _do_ need to know that I care about you. I'll always care."

"Why?" He asked, finally turning to look at her. "I ain't nobody."

"What do you mean?"

"I ain't never gonna cure this...whatever this is. I ain't gonna be President or create world peace..."

"So? Those things don't matter anymore. _We_ do. Our Family." She gestured outside the window, to the houses surrounding the one they were in. "The people you love matter. And you matter to them. You've been there for Rick since the beginning."

"Ain't had nowhere else to go."

Now she scoffed, and she didn't care if he heard. "Bullshit. You left with Merle, but you came back. Why?"

He shrugged. Ava sat up and curled her legs under her, Indian-style. She tried to see his eyes, but he had turned away from her again. She talked anyway.

"You came back because no matter what Merle said about caring about you, all he really cared about was not being alone, and he knew you would follow him because that's all you'd been doing since you were young. He tried to make you just like him, hateful and bitter; pushed you around and treated you almost as bad as your dad did. But that's not you - you're angry and hurt and full of unanswered questions, but you're not a hopeless racist asshole who raises a hand to a woman - and so you went back to Rick and the others. You're a good person and you knew they were too, and that's what you wanted. To be around good people, to help them and know what it feels like to have people who genuinely love you for _you_ , not for what you can give them.

"You told me before that the kids were your life, that you'd die to protect them. Were you lying?"

He paused for a moment, hands nervously twisting the sheets below him, then shook his head. "Nah. I'd give m' life for 'em. Fer any o' the group."

She nodded. "And that's why you're still here. Because that's how real love works. It seeks you out, draws you back even when you try to pull away because you're scared or hurt. It finds those who are pure in their hearts, and binds them together."

He looked down at her, absorbing her words. In all these years, he'd never thought of it that way. He had become morally bound to protect these people; when they had first met, he and Merle had been planning on robbing them, but when Daryl saw that they had kids with them he had abandoned that idea at once. Taking food out of adults' mouths was bad enough, but leaving kids to starve was unforgivable - at least in Daryl's eyes. Merle thought he was being a pussy, giving up on their plan, but he didn't care. Most of these people had never had to truly survive on their own, but he had been taking care of himself since he was a young kid. He could help, so killing walkers and hunting for the group would be his penance for their unfulfilled evil deed. But as the weeks turned into months into years, his obligation to provide for them had grown into love. He soon began to love them more than his own blood.

And why not? His own blood had scarred his back, put out cigarettes on his arms and kicked him down a flight of stairs, among dozens of other things. But these people, never had they intentionally tried to hurt him. They had even gone into danger to bring him back when he'd been taken, losing other people in the process.

That's why he had to bring Rick's gun back to him from the Sanctuary. To show him that he was grateful, that he hadn't forgotten everything they had been through together.

Chloe began to whimper in the other room, and Ava gave Daryl's chest a final pat before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and getting up. "Looks like it's mommy time," she said with a smile.

"Mhm," he agreed with a nod. "She likes ya."

Just before she swung around the door frame and entered the hall, she looked back and grinned. "Not as much as you."

* * *

 _TBC..._


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

* * *

"Daryl, can I talk to you?"

Daryl looked up from the arrows he was fletching with turkey feathers and saw Aaron loping toward him, his hands in his pockets and his customary friendly smile on his face.

"'Sup?" He asked as he stuck a finished arrow into a homemade quiver and began another.

Aaron reached down and plucked it up again, ignoring Daryl's huff of frustration. "This is some fine work," he said appreciatively. "But these are too long for your crossbow."

The hunter nodded. "Not fer me. Ava wanted me t' teach 'er."

With that, he reached down next to the log he sat on and held up a hand-carved longbow, already tightly strung. Aaron gave a low whistle as Daryl carefully placed it in his hands. His blue eyes wide, he asked, "You made this?"

Daryl nodded again. "Easier t' pull back than m' crossbow, no movin' parts but the string."

"It's beautiful," he said as he turned it over and noticed the trailing ivy carved into the outside of the arms. Once it was stained and polished it would look even better, the dark outline of the ivy contrasting with the lighter shade of the birch he had used to make the bow.

Taking the bow back, Daryl gruffly asked, "What'd ya wanna talk about?"

"Right," Aaron replied, remembering his reason for coming outside. "We were thinking about switching up guard duty assignments for the next few months, try to make it so some of us can work on other projects, give some others a turn."

"Talk ta Maggie. She's in charge of work details."

The other man nodded. "I know. And we have, but she said to ask you."

Daryl squinted up at him. "Me? What fer?"

"Because," Aaron said as he hid a smile, "you know everyone's strengths and weaknesses. You can figure out who'd be best suited to each shift." Daryl opened his mouth to protest, but Aaron rushed on. "I know you're busy with Chloe and the fortifications around this place, but I thought maybe since you're supposed to be off your feet we could plan it out."

Daryl pondered it for a minute, chewing on his thumbnail, before finally shrugging his shoulders. "Might be nice to have a longer rotation," he said at length. "Two weeks instead of five days."

Aaron grinned. "And then we switch it up quarterly."

"A'ight," Daryl agreed with a nod. "Works fer me."

"So," the curly-haired man slyly asked, watching the other man carefully for a reaction, "should I put Ava on the rotation?"

He was disappointed, however, when Daryl only shrugged and said, "Yeah. Only one shouldn't be is Maggie."

Aaron plopped down onto the log beside him, and Daryl stuffed down the long-suffering sigh itching to make its way out. Truthfully, though his enthusiasm could sometimes be exhausting, Daryl enjoyed the man's company. Despite his optimism he was fully grounded and understood the reality of this landscape. He just chose to see the small positives rather than focus on all the bad things. Also, he was brave and loyal, two features Daryl counted most important these days. "Seen Carol lately?"

"Kingdom's keepin' her busy, an' I've been busy here. Haven't had time."

Aaron frowned. "That sucks."

"She writes ta me. Little notes an' stuff."

Now his eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. "Carol writes you?"

Daryl nodded. "I write back sometimes, but..."

"You've been busy."

"Yep."

"What kinds of things do you write about?"

"Nothin' much. Mostly she gossips about who's sleepin' with who, dumb stuff like that. But I don't tell 'er that, cuz it makes her happy to tell me, so...I tell 'er how everyone here's doin', try and get 'er to come back here, but she likes it there."

They sat in silence for a while. Aaron knew how close Daryl and Carol had grown over the years, becoming something even closer than siblings. Others mistook their relationship as an awkward romance where both parties were too afraid to make the first move, but not Aaron. He saw their similarities, both in their personalities and in the events of their pasts, and the more time he had spent with them he began to see them almost as soulmates, but in a platonic way. Or, more accurately, like they were two halves of the same being.

And in light of that revelation, he understood both why Carol had left and why her absence was hard on Daryl. With her gone, he felt as if a part of himself was missing. Ever the stoic hunter, however, he tried not to let others see it, but those who were more perceptive - like Aaron - picked up the subtle cues.

Changing the subject to something a little less sore, Aaron asked, "How're things going with Chloe?"

Daryl shrugged. "She's okay. Growin', but..."

"They all do," Aaron finished for him. He watched Daryl as he fletched another arrow, his fingers carefully working his knife to notch the end of the shaft before tying the feathers onto it with dental floss. "You two seem to be doing a good job raising her. It's hard, stepping into a father's role when you have no experience."

"Ain't so bad. She's a good kid."

"Still, having someone so defenseless depending on you can be daunting..."

"I took care of Judith when she's a baby," Daryl reminded him. "Fed 'er, held 'er when she's cryin'..."

"But in the end, Rick was there when she needed him," Aaron argued gently. Daryl didn't bother to correct him on Lil Asskicker's parentage, as it was beside the point. Her real father was dead long before she was born. "You are essentially Chloe's father now. There's no one to turn to when you need a break."

"'Cept Ava. She...she's gettin' good at bein' a mom."

"Getting good?" Aaron repeated.

"Guess the instincts don't kick in the same fer ev'ryone. Plus she's never had to be someone's Ma."

"Makes sense."

"She's just...her second-guessin' gets in the way."

"Does that bother you?"

Daryl shook his shaggy head. "Nah. She'll get there. 'Sides, she's got Maggie an' Enid ta help 'er."

"Speak of the devil..." Aaron sang under his breath, as Ava stepped out of the manor house. In her arms she carried Chloe, who sported a little white bonnet on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes.

"Shit," Daryl swore, his eyes swinging wildly around him as he searched for something. Then, he gestured to Aaron and said, "Gimme that sheet behind ya."

Curious, Aaron obliged, and Daryl quickly snapped it open and covered the bow and arrows with it. He bunched it up in places, trying to make it seem like just a balled-up, discarded tarp, and placed a few small rocks on it for good measure. When his gift was hidden, he whipped out a crossbow bolt he had carved and went to work sharpening the tip, pretending he'd been working on it all along. And just in time, too, as Ava reached them a moment later.

Aaron bit back against a smile. Big, bad Daryl, who had perfected his thousand-yard stare and could shoot a walker in the skull from 300 feet, was afraid of his surprise being ruined.

"Hey," she greeted the two men.

"Good morning," Aaron replied. He reached out and slipped his pinkie finger into Chloe's fist, and she squeezed it tightly and tried to bring it to her mouth. Chuckling, he took it back and said, "Looks like she's hungry again."

Ava grinned and shook her head. "I think she's teething. She tries to put everything in her mouth."

"You got plans for later?" Aaron asked her. "I could use a hand with finishing up the nesting boxes for the chickens we got from the Kingdom."

He didn't miss that she first looked to Daryl, whose expression remained static, before shaking her head. "Not that I know of. After dinner?"

He nodded. "Sounds good." Standing up, he brushed his hands off on his pants and ran a finger down the baby's cheek, then gave them a small wave. "I'd better get goin'. Daryl, we're getting together tomorrow morning for those rotations."

The hunter stuck the finished bolt into his quiver, his movements as sharp as the arrow's tip. "Yeah. 'Kay."

When Aaron had gone, Daryl stowed his knife and gestured for the baby. "Lemme see 'er."

Ava willingly handed her to him, then took the spot on the log Aaron had vacated. Stretching all her limbs out in front of her, she heaved a sigh and then tipped her face up, eyes closed, toward the sun. "Feels so good."

"'S gonna be warm fer Fall. Prob'ly near 80."

"Maybe I'll finally get a tan," she joked. After a few moments she tilted her head back down and peered at him. "How long've you been up?"

Daryl shrugged. "A while. Watched the sun come up."

"You eat?"

"Yeah. You?"

She nodded. "And so did that little monster, there. Finished off a bottle and was still yelling, so Maggie made a little runny oatmeal for her."

He looked down at the baby in his arms, and a warm feeling spread through his stomach. It was replaced a moment later by a coldness that seeped straight into his bones. Like a black hole had opened up inside him. Trying hard to ignore it, he asked, "She like it?"

"She loved it," Ava told him. "Ate quite a bit of it before she finally got full."

"She really is growin' up," he said, and Ava didn't miss the sadness that edged into his words. "Soon she'll be walkin'..."

She laid on a hand on his shoulder. "Not for a while, yet. We still have time."

"Maybe."

"What do you mean, maybe?"

He frowned. "We ain't invincible, Ava. If Negan attacks an' I...we could get killed. Or turned, like 'er real ma."

"I know, but..."

"Do you?" He asked, his eyes hardening. "Do the rest of these people?"

"Daryl..."

He stood up, Chloe still in his arms, and began pacing in front of Ava. "We made this mistake already. At the farm. The prison. Alexandria. We get too comfortable. Act like this is it - this is our safe place, our home - and then someone stronger or smarter comes along..."

"We have allies now," Ava argued, standing up as well. "The Kingdom and Oceanside..."

"It ain't enough!" He shouted. Chloe began to cry, and instinctively Ava reached out to take her, but he deftly turned away.

Hardening her gaze, she tried again and succeeded in plucking the baby from his arms. As she tucked Chloe's head into her shoulder to soothe her, she hissed, "You're scaring her, Daryl."

"We all should be scared!" He gripped her by the shoulders and spun her to look at the manor house. "Ya see this? All this, it's all a dream. It ain't real!"

A few of the others had heard the commotion, including Glenn and Aaron, and now the two men quickly strode over, concern clear on their faces.

"Daryl?" Glenn asked, his voice quiet but his tone firm. "What's..."

His hands still on Ava, his head whipped toward the younger man, his eyes hard. "Ya think that fence'll keep us safe? Keep people like Negan out?"

"Maybe not, but..."

"But what?" His fingers dug in harder, but Ava steeled herself against the pain, instead softly shushing the baby in her arms. She supposed that she should have been afraid of Daryl in that moment, or at least angry with him. Anyone else in her situation probably would have. But she could feel that he was afraid, and so while another woman in her spot would have been sobbing, terrified, she only felt like crying out of sympathy for him. "We can't stand another place burnin' down, Glenn!"

Aaron put his hand on Daryl's shoulder, but the hunter twisted away. Not one to give up easily, Aaron took a step forward and said, "We get it, Daryl. You don't want to lose any more people."

"I can't," he insisted, tears blurring his eyes. "If I..."

"Right," Aaron interrupted him. "I know. _We_ know. That's why we're redoing the assignments."

"We're stronger, now," Glenn put in, "because of you."

Daryl shook his head. "I didn't..."

"You taught most of us how to fight. You and Aaron found the others and brought them here, and you hunt to keep us all fed."

Finally quieting Chloe's cries to sniffles, Ava gently pulled out of his grasp, and he let her go. She turned around to face him. "We're more than a family now. We're bonded," she reminded him, using Rosita's word for their connection. "We _are_ Hilltop."

"Negan's comin', and he's pissed," Daryl argued. "He ain't gonna give up 'til we're all dead."

"Then we'll have to make sure he dies first," Glenn said, a hardness to his gaze Daryl had only seen once before - when they were all forced to kneel at the Saviors' feet. He had been ready to take on the man with the bat then, and it was simultaneously pleasing and unsettling to see that his fire had not cooled one bit since that day.

"Let's all take a break," Aaron suggested. "Get out of the sun and grab a drink."

After a long minute during which Daryl stared down into Chloe's dark eyes, he finally muttered, "Yeah."

Glenn's face broke out into a smile, and he clapped the hunter on the shoulder. "Maggie's got cookies inside, hot from the oven."

"If there's any left," Aaron said glumly as they all moved toward the house. "I saw Rosita and Tara high-tailing it into the kitchen a while ago."

As it turned out, there were plenty to go around. Maggie had shooed the two women out of the kitchen almost as soon as they'd come in, telling them the cookies weren't ready yet, and with pouts on their faces they had obeyed and went to check on the crops instead.

She was still in the crisp white kitchen when the group led by Glenn came in, a pair of oven mitts stuck on her hands as she bent in front of the open oven door. Muttering something under her breath, she shut the door and stood up, then jumped a little when she saw she had company.

"Ya'll snuck up on me," she breathed, pulling off the mitts to lay a hand over her racing heart.

Glenn moved around the island to embrace his wife, lovingly giving her belly a rub as he laid a kiss on her lips and then said, "You look hot."

"Well, I've been baking," she replied with a chuckle.

His eyebrows waggled. "Not what I meant, babe."

Daryl grimaced. "The hell is this? Gone with the Wind?"

Ava elbowed him. "It's cute."

"It's gross," he argued.

"You're just jealous," Glenn told him, and kissed Maggie's cheek.

Daryl just waved his hand dismissively and said, "Pfft." Peering around Maggie at the kitchen counter beside the stove, he asked, "Where these cookies at?"

"I already told Rosita..." She began, but Daryl had already stepped around her and began opening cupboards, moving cans and bags around as he searched them. Coming up empty, he paused to think and then opened the breadbox on the island, uttering a sound of discovery as he reached in and pulled out a plate loaded with cookies.

As he swiped three from the pile, Maggie sighed and shook her head. "Fine," she relented. "But save some for me, Rick and Michonne, would you? Last time I got crumbs."

Daryl stuffed half a cookie into his mouth, then set his other two and half on the counter before handing some out to Ava, Glenn and Aaron. The rest of the plate he handed back to Maggie. "Here," he said around his mouthful. He finished chewing and picked up the remainder of his prize. "They're good, Mags."

As the others added their mumbled agreements, she smiled warmly and hid the plate away again, sliding the cover of the breadbox down. "Thank you. Family recipe."

Brushing away crumbs that had fallen onto Chloe's bonnet, Ava swallowed and said, "These could win an award."

A timer went off, its high-pitched ringing reminiscent of a telephone, and Maggie slipped her mitts back on and pulled the next batch out of the oven. The smell of sugar and cinnamon wafted through the room, and everyone made a collective "Mm" sound. Sensing that her cookies were in danger, Maggie set the pan down on the stove and shook her head. "Oh, no. Everybody, out!"

"But..." Glenn began, reaching toward the pan. Maggie lightly slapped his hand, and he pulled it back as if he'd been burned.

"Not even you," she warned. Her gaze softening, she explained, "I was planning on serving them after dinner."

"We can't wait," Aaron told her.

Sufficiently chastened, the group turned as one and filed out of the kitchen. Ava went for the stairs to the second floor, but Daryl called her name and she stopped, her foot on the first stair. Turning back to face him, she adjusted Chloe in her arms and waited, curiosity written on her features.

"I...there's somethin' I wanna show ya," he said.

Standing in the front doorway, Aaron smiled, so far unnoticed by the pair. He of course knew what the "something" was, and he so wanted to watch this play out, but he had a feeling Daryl wouldn't appreciate a third wheel. "I can take the baby for a while," he offered then, and Ava peered around the hunter to look at the curly-haired man as he came forward and held out his hands. "Give your arms a break."

Daryl met his gaze and gave a slight nod, and Aaron just grinned back. _You're welcome, brother,_ Aaron thought.

"Are you sure?" Ava asked him. "She can be a handful..."

"We'll be fine." As if to prove the point, Aaron took Chloe and nestled her into the crook of his arm. She whimpered a few times, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout that usually meant a full-on wail was coming next, but he shook his head and widened his eyes, then sang, "Won't we, Chloe? Yes, we will."

"C'mon," Daryl said, tugging Ava by the arm toward the door. "'Fore she really gets goin'."

With a last glance at Aaron, who nodded reassuringly at her, she followed Daryl outside.

* * *

By the time she had shut the door behind her, Daryl was already halfway across the yard, his strides seeming even longer than usual. Ava huffed a sigh and jogged a few steps to catch up with him, only to screech to a stop a moment later when he did. He stood in front of the fallen log they had recently begun to use as a bench, and gestured for her to sit. Ava looked at him, puzzled, but obliged. Once she was situated, he positioned himself in front of her, his body turned slightly sideways.

"So, uh..." He began, then shook his head once and instead reached down to her left and pulled up a wrinkled sheet weighted down by rocks. When he stood up again, he was holding a longbow and a buckskin quiver filled with arrows. His cheeks and the tips of his ears blushed furiously as he thrust them at her, uttering a quick, "Here."

She peered up at him, her mouth gaping like a fish dragged from a pond. "Daryl, what...?" She swallowed and tried again. "This is for me?"

"Yeah. Ya said ya wanted ta learn."

Her brow furrowed. "I did?" When he nodded, she asked, "When?"

He shrugged. "A way back. After we found Chloe."

She had to think for a while, but finally she remembered the conversation. They had been sitting by the bonfire, passing a fifth of a bottle of Jack Daniels' back and forth between them. He had asked her if she knew how to fight with anything other than a knife, and she shook her head.

" _I can shoot a gun, but I'm not a good shot," she told him._

" _Ain't hard," he replied as he took a swig and handed the bottle back. "Just takes practice."_

" _Like your crossbow?"_

"' _S a little harder. Gotta have lotta muscle ta pull the string back. Tension's lot higher than a reg'lar bow."_

 _She held the bottle up in the firelight, enjoying the way the amber color flickered gold when the fire sparked. She was drunk, or at least mostly there; she could feel it in the heavy-light fuzziness of her limbs. Smiling widely, she took a healthy pull of the liquid and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand._

" _You could teach me," she said, her words slurring just a bit. "Bet you're a good teacher."_

" _Dunno 'bout that," he had responded, "but if yer serious I will."_

 _Ava sat up straighter in an attempt to seem less sloshed and nodded vigorously. Ignoring the way her stomach roiled when her vision blurred, she said, "Serious. Totally serious."_

 _Though she couldn't see his face, she could hear the smile in his voice. "All right, settle down. Jus' tell me what weapon ya wanna learn first?"_

"Longbow," Ava said now, her hands lovingly stroking the birch limbs, fingers tracing the ivy inlay. "Where'd you find this?"

He ducked his head, hair hiding his face. "Made it."

"You made this?" She repeated incredulously. "The bow _and_ the quiver?"

He nodded. "Arrows, too." He pulled one part-way out of the quiver. "See? Turkey feathers. Still gotta stain it, yet."

She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn't want to scare him, to make him think he'd upset her. Traditionally, the men she knew didn't hear a word she said, so to suddenly be gifted with something she had only mentioned in passing, while she was drunk, was foreign to her. And not only that, but he had gone out of his way to make it with his own hands. He had probably gotten splinters from carving the bow, bruised his fingers while tying the string taut, but he had counted those small injuries worth her happiness.

"Thank you, Daryl," she finally managed, her voice little more than a whisper. "I can't believe you made this for me."

"Ya like it?"

At the apprehension in his voice, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I love it. It's amazing."

Daryl heaved an audible sigh and came to sit down beside her. "I'll finish it t'night, an' we can start tomorrow, after I meet with Aaron and the others." Then, figuring he sounded too pushy, he quickly added, "If ya want."

The mention of the man who was currently babysitting got Ava's mind turning, and she lifted a curious eyebrow and asked, "Did he know about this?" She held up the bow.

Daryl nodded.

"That's why he was so eager to take Chloe," Ava guessed.

"Nah," the hunter replied with a shake of his head. "'S good with kids, is all. He really did wanna spend time with 'er."

"Well, I'll have to make him his own batch of cookies to thank him."

Daryl pouted. "What 'bout me? I don't get cookies?"

She smiled and leaned over to gently kiss his cheek. "I thought maybe you'd like something a little sweeter..."

"Stop," he warned in his low voice, but it only served to further stoke the fire in her belly.

"Make me," she challenged, her tone almost matching his in its huskiness.

"Ava..."

She laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Y'know, if I were any other girl I'd be hurt by this constant rejection."

"I ain't..."

"But," she went on, her fingers pressed to his lips to quiet him, "I'm not any other girl."

He just stared at her.

There was so much he wanted to say, but no matter how hard he tried, the words stayed stuck on his tongue.

He wanted to tell her that she was more than any other girl. That she wasn't a girl at all. He wanted her to know she wouldn't be waiting forever. He wanted to put his hands on her, feel her smooth skin and silky hair. He wanted to tell her she was everything he ever wanted. That he never wanted to let her go.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't, not because those things weren't true, but because he didn't have the words. He'd never felt like this before, not even when he was an awkward 16-year-old with a crush on Kelly Miller. He'd been crazy about her but had never been able to get close to her, either physically or emotionally. He couldn't let her see the scars on his back, and he wouldn't let her see the ones in his mind. They talked and hung out, and she had even kissed him a few times, but that was as far as their relationship went. She had eventually showed interest in the class president, 6'2" and a complete jock, and Daryl faded into the background. He still wondered sometimes if they had gotten married, if they had survived the apocalypse, or if they now were two of those creatures stumbling through the country.

He needed to see Ava smile, to be the reason that she broke out into that gorgeous thousand-watt grin that brought a dimple out on her left cheek, like he had been a moment ago when he handed her gift to her. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her hands on his skin, wanted to feel all those terrifying feelings that Will Dixon had almost completely beat out of him years ago.

Daryl's hand reached down and patted his pocket, where his latest letter from Carol sat folded into a tiny rectangle, the ink smudging where the sweat on his chest dampened it.

" _Ava sounds lovely,"_ she'd written. " _Remember, be yourself, but not too much."_

He knew what she meant by that - be Daryl Dixon, but not the Daryl that pushed others away out of fear. The one who had a big heart, not the one who ran when things got tough. Well, he wasn't running now, but he wasn't exactly ready to stand still yet, either.

Luckily, he was saved by Rick, who had emerged from the trailer he shared with Judith and Michonne and headed straight for the pair by the firepit.

"Daryl," the former sheriff called, lifting a hand in greeting, "got a minute?"

"Yeah," Daryl replied.

Before he could turn away, Ava took hold of his wrist and held him in place. "Thank you again. I love my gift."

He gave her a small grin and tossed his hair out of his eyes. "Good ta hear."

Ava watched him walk with Rick toward the gardens, then looked down at the bow in her hands and felt her heart swell with pride. Daryl Dixon had made her a present. She could still hardly believe it. Leaning the bow beside her against the log, she looked at the quiver and saw that her name was burned into the buckskin he had used. The letters less than an inch tall, they were perfectly spaced and displayed on the front of the quiver, and she could imagine him bent over the piece, blue eyes wide as he concentrated on getting everything just right. She wondered how long it had taken him to make the set, how many hours he had worked. He had to have done it at night; she knew he had been busy during the day. That was probably how he managed to keep it a surprise as well, as he often stayed awake while everyone else was sleeping and so no one questioned why he would be sitting by the fire in the middle of the night, carving a piece of wood or sharpening arrows. Not that many people would have asked him, anyway. Most of the newcomers here were still too cowed by his gruff nature to bother him, and those who knew him knew he went through bolts like crazy and liked to keep a plentiful supply handy.

She took her gifts into the spare room in Daryl's trailer and set them on the dresser Maggie had let her take from the manor house, then sat down on the bed with her legs hanging over the edge. Her eyes wandered around the room, noticing just then that the wallpaper was peeling from the corner above the door, and she absently wondered if there was any glue laying around somewhere. The playpen sat near the bed, close enough that Ava could reach over the edge of the mattress to gently soothe the baby without picking her up. A stuffed rabbit had somehow escaped the playpen and lay on the floor, and with a sigh Ava got off the bed and picked it up. Tossing it back into the makeshift crib, she went to the window and looked out.

Most of the residents of Hilltop were outside in small groups of two or three, some of them milling around and just enjoying the sunshine, while others pointed out the places they thought would be the best spots to put new gardens and buildings. She could see Aaron wandering between the groups, occasionally kneeling in front of a rose bush or plum tree and showing them to Chloe. He picked a stalk of soft pampas grass and let it brush against the baby's cheek, his lips moving as he likely named the plant and asked her if she liked it. Chloe reached up and clutched the stem in her tight fist, and even from this distance Ava could see Aaron laugh as he gently untangled it from her fingers.

This was her home.

Their home.

And it would be that, until the day it wasn't. She wasn't naive enough to think that they would stay here forever. The world might finally be settling, but even as before there were ups and downs, and nothing was ever certain. She might not agree with Daryl that this place wasn't real, but she understood why he was afraid to trust it. As a child and young adult, he had never had stability. Abused by his father and left behind by his mother, as soon as he was old enough he'd gone chasing after Merle, doing whatever he said in a bid to at least feel wanted by someone. They had wandered around the South, picking up odd jobs and raising hell wherever they went.

And then the Turn happened, upending whatever small bit of normalcy Daryl had found. Once again he was thrown into chaos, trying to not only survive the environment but now dodging flesh-eating people as well. They ran into Rick and the others shortly after that, which was when Merle hatched his genius plan to rob the camp. But Daryl had seen something in these people, and though he didn't recognize it at the time he would later understand what it was.

Love.

Humanity.

Compassion.

At first, even those traits had not been enough to keep him close, as he was torn between his loyalty to his brother and finally feeling accepted. It took seeing the contrast between Merle's cold-bloodedness and the camp's sense of community to make Daryl understand that he did not belong with Merle, hurting people just to take care of themselves.

Ava was certainly glad he had not stayed with his brother.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

* * *

There was finally a rhythm at Hilltop. It had taken a while, and it was harder even still for some of them - like Daryl - to get used to, but each individual had now settled into a pattern of living that was as close to the world before as it could possibly get. Ava enjoyed the predictability, the routine mundaneness of it all, but if she were honest with herself she also missed the adrenaline rush of not knowing what each day held. She had taken up permanent residence in Daryl's trailer, which although it had been his idea sometimes felt too cramped for him, causing him to get restless and go out on a day-long hunt. That was fine with Ava, too, as usually it meant he brought home a large deer or a wild boar that would feed the community for a few weeks. Or longer, if they made some of the meat into stew.

Chloe slept in the playpen beside her in Daryl's spare room, just now beginning to eat some soft solids as she had two teeth and more on their way in. Enid often came by to take her for a while, entertaining both her and Judith so Ava could take her turn at guard duty, or even just rest and enjoy a quiet afternoon. Maggie was as big as a house, as she herself put it, and was due to deliver any day, a fact that made Glenn more nervous with every passing hour.

There were still supply runs, and trade missions with the other nearby communities, but those were far and few between, and only when they were in dire need of something specific. Ava had finally got to meet Carol as she came to Hilltop to invite the community to the Kingdom for a wedding celebration, and she instantly loved the grey-haired woman and her sparkling blue eyes. They had spent hours laughing and trading stories about Daryl until he got so embarrassed that he ran off and left them alone, which of course made them laugh even more. Too soon her short visit was over, and Ava made Carol promise to come back soon. Carol readily agreed, promising Ava that next time she would tell her about all his daring rescues.

She couldn't wait.

After checking on Chloe, who was napping in her playpen with a small smile on her rosy lips, Ava stepped into Daryl's room to check on him next. He was awake and sitting on his bed, his legs folded under him as his hands turned a small piece of plastic over and over. When he saw her come in, he set the object down on his bedside table and said, "Hey."

She gave him a flash of a smile. "Hey, yourself. Whatcha doin'?."

"Takin' a minute," he replied. "Damn ankle's hurtin' again."

Ava shrugged. "I once heard that sprains are even worse than breaks, in terms of healing time. Could take months to over a year for a sprain."

He rolled his eyes. "Great."

She neared the bed and asked with a pointed finger if she could sit down. Daryl moved his feet over a bit to make room for her, and she sank down on the mattress with a small sigh. Tucking one leg underneath her, she gazed silently at him until he became uncomfortable and asked, "What?"

"Nothing," she replied. "I just like looking at you."

"Pfft."

She cocked her head to the side and frowned. "You think I'm lying?"

He defaulted to letting his bangs fall over his eyes. "Just don't think there's much ta look at."

"Daryl, I don't know if you've noticed, but there are quite a few females who think you're hot."

His cheeks flushed a deep red. "Stop."

"I'm serious. Girls talk about this kind of stuff with each other, y'know."

He decided not to follow that line of thought and instead asked, "Like who?"

Ava held up her hand and ticked off her fingers as she spoke. "Well, of course, there's me. And I happen to know Maggie thinks you're pretty, in a grungy, grease-monkey kinda way."

"She does not..."

"And," she went on, ignoring him, "Carol just adores you."

"Ava, she's..."

"And last but certainly not least, there's Rosita."

He was silent as he pondered this revelation, but then shook his head. "Maybe they 're joking."

"They weren't, trust me. But anyway, I was wondering if we could go out and practice later, with my new bow."

He shrugged, glad for the change of subject. "Sure."

"Then, when I get good, maybe I could go hunting with you."

"Why?"

"Cause...I wanna help, and anyway you're good at hunting but soon it'll be winter and we'll need more food than one person can bring in."

"Gonna take more than a few lessons to get good enough ta bring down a deer."

She nodded. "I know. But I'm a fast learner."

"I dunno..." He said, nervously chewing his thumbnail. "It's dangerous out there, 'n when we're huntin' we'll be far apart. If somethin' happens I can't get to ya fast."

"I won't need you to protect me if I get good, and anyway I have my knife."

She closed her eyes as she saw the shift in his face, and too late she wished she could take back what she had just said.

"Ya won't, huh? Like when ya were stranded when the car broke down? Like how you didn't need my help to get outta Sanctuary?"

"Daryl, that's not what I meant."

"What if I wanna protect ya? Huh? What if I don't wanna take ya out there cuz I don't want it to be on me if somethin' happens to ya?" He sat up, his limbs rigid as he fought the urge to get up and start pacing anxiously. "Like Sophia? Or Denise, shot through the eye with a bolt from my bow?! Like Beth!"

"You only care because you don't want more guilt," she angrily spat.

"No, I care 'cause I don't want Chloe to lose another Ma. And 'cause if I gotta dig one more grave I'll lose my fuckin' mind!" He took a moment to calm down, taking deep breaths until he no longer wanted to punch a hole in a wall. Then, he said, "It ain't fair to 'er, havin' ta grow up without her Ma. Like Judith did."

"Like you."

Daryl nodded. "She needs ya, Ava."

"Okay," she relented. "But when she's older..."

He dipped his head. His voice soft, he said, "I'll take ya whenever ya want."

Wondering if he realized the innuendo in his words, Ava looked up and felt her breath catch in her throat. That look was back in Daryl's eyes, the one he had just before he'd kissed her the first time. His eyes were so blue, his pupils large and black in contrast, and his nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled each carefully measured breath. His hand slowly lifted to trail down the side of her face, his fingers sliding against her silky skin, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. She kept them closed as his palm cupped her cheek, then moved to her lower jaw, and she felt his breath on her lips just before his mouth covered hers. His kiss was slow and gentle, almost shy, and she cautiously reached up and took his face in her hands to reassure him, her fingers curling slightly into his stubbled cheeks. His pressure on her mouth increased then, the slightest growl/groan sounding in his throat as his hands wandered to her shoulders, then further down to her biceps. His grip was tight, but not painfully so; still as soon as she inhaled sharply Daryl released her as if her skin had burned him.

Ava broke the kiss and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "You're okay," she said, planting small kisses on the spot just below his earlobe. "You won't hurt me."

He ducked his head to stare into her eyes, making sure she was telling the truth, and she gave him a small smile and brushed her lips across his. His palm slipped up to the back of her head and trapped her there, his tongue darting out to swipe across her lower lips, and she sighed against him and opened her mouth to allow it full access. She could still feel his hesitation, so she boldly swung her leg over him to straddle his lap, her knees pressed into his hips, and she was rewarded by his hands moving down to span her waist, his fingers digging into her back on either side. She felt them toying with the hem of her shirt, bunching it up as they slid higher, and then they let go to slip around to her front, lightly brushing the lower edge of her bra. Ava tangled her hands in his dark hair, tugging gently as she released his lips to trail warm, wet kisses down his chin to his Adam's apple. She felt his chest heave as he gasped in a breath, and then he tilted his head back to allow her to continue, his lower lip caught between his teeth. She made a sound that was not unlike a cat's purr and followed his silent request, but within mere moments of her tongue tracing patterns across the velvet skin of his throat he grabbed her arms and stilled her atop him.

"Gotta...slow down," he panted. "I need..."

Ava nodded, smiling impishly. "Feels too good?" She asked, and he moved his head in what amounted to a nod.

"Been a minute. Wanna go slow. Slower," he corrected at the end.

She let him cool down, her face tucked into his shoulder as they simply enjoyed each other's presence. She listened to his heart beat and her mind drifted back to when they had first met, when she had been injured and he helped her through her panic attack. Even before she had truly known him and learned his character, she had felt safer with him - a stranger - than she ever had in her life. She had felt even then that he would protect her, and she had been right. He was everything she had ever longed for - strong but compassionate, with a hidden sense of humor and a set of morals to rival a saint. And he was gorgeous, with muscles that were defined but not beefy.

And those eyes. So bright blue and yet full of mystery and mischief, and when they stared at her she could feel him peering straight into her soul, peeling off layer after layer...

She suddenly needed a glass of water. Hell, she needed a whole lake.

There was knock on the front door then. Not just a knock, but more like banging. Almost pounding. With a groan Ava pushed herself up to look at him.

"Think they'll go away?" She asked quietly.

Before he could answer, a voice shouted, "Daryl? It's Rick!"

Daryl looked back at her. "Sorry," he muttered.

She groaned a second time, then climbed off him so he could get up and answer the door. "This better be important," she said.

"Daryl?" Rick yelled again, his voice desperate, and Daryl and Ava traded worried glances.

"Comin'," he called back, pulling on a sleeveless t-shirt as he walked out of his room and down the hall. Ava straightened her clothes as she followed him, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles out.

Daryl opened the kitchen door to see Rick standing there, the fingers of both hands digging into his hips as if he were physically trying to keep himself in one place.

"What's up?" Daryl asked.

As soon as Rick's blue eyes gazed at Daryl they filled with tears, and Ava's heart sped up in her chest. Something very bad must've happened for him to be that upset. "I can't find Judith. She was in the house with Michonne, and then..." His voice cracked at the end and he trailed off, his hand covering his mouth.

Daryl stepped forward and laid a hand on Rick's shoulder. "Gimme a sec, get m' boots on."

"I've looked everywhere she could go," the sheriff babbled on as Daryl ducked back into the house to retrieve his shoes and any other items he thought he'd need for the search. "Michonne feels guilty, but she...Judith knows better than to run off."

Ava came outside and gave him a comforting hug. "We'll find 'er, Rick. Daryl will track her down."

His head leaned into her shoulder, he could only nod as his tears clogged his throat. Daryl came back out then wearing his trademark vest and a pair of black motorcycle boots. Securing his knife in the sheath at his hip, he asked, "Ya said she's at the house?"

Rick nodded. "Michonne turned her back to talk to someone else, and when she looked back a few seconds later she was gone."

Daryl immediately started down the porch stairs and headed for the manor house, with Rick only slightly behind and to the left of him.

"I'll meet you," Ava told them. "Gotta get Chloe."

Ava ran inside and went into the spare room. Chloe was awake, just looking around the room with wide eyes, and Ava smiled down at her. "Hey, Princess," she murmured as she gently lifted the baby from the playpen. "You had a good nap, huh?" With Chloe tucked in her arms, she stopped at the kitchen table to grab her hunting knife, then went back outside. She saw the two men on the dirt track between the trailers and the manor house, and quickened her steps to catch up the rear.

"She search the whole buildin'?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah," Rick replied, wiping his hand over his face. "She's already gone through the storehouse and infirmary, too."

"A'ight. You go with Michonne then, start lookin' in the stable, sheds, all that. Me an' Ava'll take the trailers, work from th' outside in; if she's bein' cute we'll box 'er in."

Rick swallowed thickly even as he nodded. "You don't think..."

Daryl stopped and met Rick's gaze straight on, his eyes serious. "Don't think nothin'. Gotta be here somewhere. We'll meet back out front o' the house."

The wooden doors to the 150-year-old building opened then, and Michonne and Maggie came outside, their faces full of grief and worry. Rick went up on the porch to meet his girlfriend, embracing her in a hug, and Maggie reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Where's the last place ya saw 'er?" Daryl asked Michonne when she and Rick had drawn apart.

"In the kitchen," she replied, wiping tears from her face. "She was eating a cookie at the table, so I turned around to ask Rosita about the guard duty assignments, and..." She trailed off with a helpless shrug and then regarded Rick with sad eyes. "She was just gone. I didn't mean to take my eyes off her..."

"It's not your fault," Ava told her. "Kids are fast when they wanna be."

"Give Chloe to me," a voice at Ava's shoulder said, and she turned to see Enid standing there, a worried look on her face.

Ava's glance found Daryl, and he gave her the barest of nods. "Okay," she said after another moment, then placed the baby in Enid's waiting arms. "She might get hungry soon. There's a few bottles in the house, and there are diapers in..."

"I'll be okay," Enid assured her with a shy smile. "I've been helping Maggie sometimes, remember?" Then her face grew serious again, and she looked between Ava and Daryl before saying, "Just find her, okay?"

Ava nodded. She knew that after Carl died the teenaged girl had grown close to his little sister, often playing with her and watching after her when the adults were busy. "We will."

As Enid took Chloe into the house, Daryl headed off toward the far end of the row of trailers, closest to the front gate, and Ava followed after him as Rick and Michonne went to start looking in the other direction. They searched in silence for a while, knowing that if Judith was hiding it would be easier to sneak up on her if they didn't make too much noise. They crept around each trailer's exterior first, Ava taking the left and Daryl the right, and if there was someone home they quietly asked the occupants if they had seen her. They skipped the inside of Daryl's trailer as they knew she was not there, though Ava did peek under the front porch just in case she had crawled beneath it.

Coming up empty at the trailers, Daryl gestured to her that they should walk the rear perimeter of the stockade, and she nodded her agreement and let him take point. As they walked, Ava tried to ignore the gnawing fear in her stomach that something bad had happened to the toddler. It had been over an hour since anyone had seen her, and even here where it seemed safe there was always the distinct possibility that something - or someone - could have found a way in.

 _Or out_ , she noted as Daryl stopped and pointed at the stockade directly behind the house. One of the beams had shifted sideways over time, canting at an angle that left a small gap between it and the next one that looked just big enough for someone Judith's size to slip through.

"Shit," Ava muttered, her eyes wide. "Daryl, you think..?"

"Gotta check," he said. He moved closer to the gap and turned sideways, trying to push his body through, but his shoulders were too wide to fit. He contorted himself a few different ways and tried again, but each time he could only get half of his upper body through. He stood up and sighed.

"Let me try," she offered, already moving toward the fence. "I think I can get through if I crawl."

Out of options, he nodded. "Careful."

"You know me," she said with a shrug, and he nodded again.

"'S why I said it."

Ava crouched down and then got on her hands and knees in front of the seam. Looking over her shoulder at him, she smiled and said, "Stop starin' at my ass."

Daryl scoffed, but failed to deny it. "Hurry up, will ya? Ain't no time fer flirtin'."

She managed to get her arms and torso through, but when she tried to pull her hips through she felt herself get caught on something. She tried twisting sideways, but that didn't help. It was only when she heard Daryl's voice say, "Yer knife's caught," that she realized what had happened. Feeling like an idiot, she pulled back through and took her knife sheath off her shorts. She pushed it through the hole ahead of her and started again, and this time it only took a little maneuvering to slide her hips through. Once she was clear of the fence, she picked up her knife again and then stood up. Scanning the wooded area just beyond Hilltop, she watched carefully for any signs of movement, for flashes of clothing or blond hair. She heard rustling in some bushes ahead and slowly crept toward them, her knife held ready in case it wasn't Judith. She stared hard at the bushes, trying to make out what was behind them, but they were too dense to see through and all she could see were the branches shaking. When she was less than ten feet away, a squirrel suddenly hopped out and then scampered up the trunk of a pine tree, chattering loudly. Staring up at the animal, Ava scowled as she was simultaneously glad it was only an animal, and irritated that it wasn't the toddler she was searching for. Ava continued to walk along the outside of the fence, stopping every few feet to listen for any noises, but besides the squirrel the air was silent.

She had gone halfway around the back portion, close to where the trailers stood on the other side, when she stumbled upon what looked like a manhole sunk into the ground, the cover long since either rotted or removed. Ava's heart leaped into her throat, then sank to her stomach. The concrete lip was level with the forest floor and barely visible due to the long grass; it would be so easy for a kid to fall in, especially if they were chasing, say, a squirrel or a chipmunk. Creeping closer, Ava said a quick prayer and then cautiously leaned over the hole. It wasn't very deep, maybe fifteen feet or so, and she could tell by the slimy moss growing on the walls that it had once been filled almost to the top with water. Thankfully it was now dry, the bottom littered with dry leaves, sticks and acorns. But tucked in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows and dressed in a blue shirt and jeans, crouched a familiar form.

"Oh my God!" Ava breathed. Dropping down onto her stomach, she leaned her top half over the hole and softly called down, "Judith? Judith, honey, can you hear me?"

The form moved, and then two small hands appeared to push the mop of blond curls away from the face. Gray eyes turned up to look at her and the girl began to whimper, and Ava huffed out a sigh of relief and said, "Okay, you're okay. Stay quiet, okay?"

Judith nodded, and Ava scrambled to her feet and ran back to the gap. She dropped to her hands and knees and peered through the hole, glad to see Daryl's motorcycle boots on the other side. "Daryl," she gasped, out of breath, "I found her."

He instantly dropped onto his belly to see her face, his eyes desperate. "She hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Where?"

"She fell into a dry well, a few dozen yards to my left. It's right on the other side of where the trailers are."

"I'm comin' 'round."

"Gonna need rope, or a ladder," she said, and he nodded his understanding.

"Go back to 'er, keep 'er quiet."

"Got it."

She got up and rushed back to the well, the knot in her stomach finally loosening. She lay down once more, and now Judith stood up and whimpered, lifting her arms as if asking to be picked up.

"It's gonna be okay," Ava told her. "Daddy and Uncle Daryl are coming to help."

"Daddy!" Judith cried, and Ava winced as her small voice echoed loudly in the well.

Putting her fingers to her lips, Ava said, "We gotta play the quiet game for a bit, okay? Remember that?"

The toddler nodded and let her arms fall down to her sides. She pretended to zip her mouth shut and throw away a key, and Ava chuckled softly. "Good job. Now, on three we both stay quiet until Uncle Daryl says it's okay. Right?"

Judith nodded again, so Ava counted to three and then locked her lips as well. As she waited, she continued to watch the woods around her for any stray walkers, hoping that nothing came. Unfortunately she spotted one shambling toward her a few moments later, half of the skin over its face missing so that the white of its cheek bone gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the trees. She silently got to her feet and pulled out her knife, then crouched in the shadow of the roots of an upturned tree, her breath stuck in her throat. After what seemed like hours it finally passed by her, headed straight for the well. She let it get another few feet or so, then crept up behind it and stabbed her knife through the back of the skull. It sank to the ground at once, far enough from the well that none of its leaking blood could reach it, and she wiped off her blade and slid it into the sheath.

Daryl appeared a few short minutes later, a length of thick rope like that used on larger sailing ships draped over his shoulder as he moved toward her at a pace just short of a full-out run. Following behind him were Rick and Michonne, relief written all over the sheriff's worn face as they hopped over rocks and fallen logs. Ava wasn't sure if they had seen Daryl leaving the main gate or if he had alerted them himself, but either way they were here. When they reached where Ava stood, Rick carefully looked over the edge just enough so that he could see Judith without her seeing him, as he knew that if she did she would either cry or shout up to him, and they really could not afford to fight off any more walkers while they rescued her.

"She okay?" He asked Ava quietly.

She answered him as she watched Daryl anchor the rope around a nearby tree, his fingers tying a very secure and complicated knot. "I think so. Probably just bumps and bruises."

"I'll go down," Rick told Daryl as he brought the other end of the rope closer to the well.

The hunter peered down at Judith, then shook his head. "Nah. Bottom narrows too much. Not enough room fer you 'r me ta move."

"That's my little girl, Daryl," Rick argued, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. "I need..."

"I can get her," Ava interjected. "I'm small enough."

"Ya can't hold 'er and climb up," Daryl stated.

She thought for a moment. He was right; her arms were strong, but that would be pushing their limit, and they couldn't afford to waste too much time out here. There were bound to be more walkers, and except for Michonne they were all only armed with knives. Finally she met his eyes and said, "Then I'll go down and tie the rope to her. You can lift her out, then send it back down for me."

Rick and Daryl exchanged glances.

"Could work," Daryl said with a shrug, and Rick nodded.

"Go 'head."

Daryl handed her the free end, and she wrapped it between her legs and then up over her shoulder, making an improvised harness. Acting as her anchor point, he took the middle section of rope and wound the slack around his arm, then planted his feet wide on the forest floor and watched as Ava carefully backed herself up to the lip of the hole and leaned back, trusting him to hold her weight as she rappelled down the mossy corrugated metal inside. She shot him a quick glance, and he could almost hear what her eyes were saying: _Don't drop me._

 _"_ "I got ya," he said aloud, and just before her head disappeared beneath the lip she smiled at him.

There was one worrying moment halfway down the well, when her foot slipped and she feared that she would lose her grip and fall on top of Judith, but she held tight to the rope and paused to take a breath, letting her heart slow down from its runaway pace. Her palms slick with sweat, she let go of the rope with her left hand for a moment and wiped it on her shorts, then did the same with her right. She looked up and saw Daryl at the edge of the well, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping the rope taut, his face a grim mask though his eyes were alive with worry. She turned her gaze to the bottom. Judith was flattened against the curved wall, her face streaked with dirt except for two trails down her cheeks where tears had washed them clean. The poor girl looked terrified, but so far Ava could see no obvious injuries. She shot a comforting smile down at the toddler, then slightly loosened her grip and let gravity slowly pull her down toward the bottom. She felt her feet brush the littered floor a moment later, and then she let go of the rope. Up above her, Daryl sighed in relief and shook out his aching arms.

He had been right about the lack of space. There was barely enough room for her to crouch down and look into Judith's eyes, which lasted but a moment before the girl threw her arms around Ava's neck and butted her head into her chest.

"You're okay," she quietly told the child, rubbing small circles on her back. "I'm gonna help you get outta here, okay?"

"Kay," Judith softly replied as Ava set her back down.

"I'm gonna tie this around you," She said as she picked up the rope. Then, she pointed up to the mouth of the hole. "See Uncle Daryl up there?"

Judith only nodded.

"He's gonna pull you up. But you gotta stay still, so you don't get hurt."

"Daddy?" Judith asked then, and Ava smiled.

"He's up there, too. Be still and quiet, okay?"

She nodded again and Ava got to work, wrapping the rope around the girl's slight waist and then tying a strong knot. She glanced up to make sure Daryl was ready, and he nodded down at her. After giving Judith another quick hug she said, "Hold on tight."

Daryl began pulling up the slack, trying not to scare the girl by jerking the rope too much. He was glad now for the calluses on his hands, as the rough fibers moving over his skin were only now beginning to hurt. Slowly, he watched the top of Judith's head come closer to where he stood, her body swinging slightly but not enough to scrape against the metal walls. She looked up at him once, when she was still too far down for him to reach, and the simultaneous expressions of fear and trust in her eyes nearly took his breath away. He loved this little girl, this bundle of mischief, and he would do anything for her. Move mountains, carry the moon on his back...hell, he'd give up his life.

He began to move faster without realizing it, but by now she was close enough that he could have reached down and wrapped his arms around her. He left that honor to her father, who immediately dropped to his knees beside the well and stuck his arms under her shoulders, then lifted her the rest of the way out. He undid the knot around Judith's waist and let the rope fall from her, then stood up and held her against his chest like he had when she was a baby. She clung to him just as tightly, her small voice crying, "Daddy," over and over again. Tears flowed freely down Rick's face to fall into his beard, and Michonne soon moved closer to wrap her arms around both of them, crying softly into Rick's shoulder.

Daryl looked down into the well. Ava was looking back at him, grinning widely as tears sparkled in her own eyes. He nodded, his way of thanking her, and she wiped at her face and nodded back. He picked up the free end of the rope and flicked it down into the hole, once again wrapping it around his forearm as she climbed up once more. Ava soon appeared at the top and he helped her onto her feet, and by then the trio's tears had settled down to mere sniffles.

"Should git goin'," Daryl gently told Rick. "Been out here long 'nough."

Clapping his best friend on the shoulder, Rick nodded. "Thank you," he said gratefully as he nuzzled Judith's golden hair.

Daryl's reply was the same as years ago, when Judith had first been born. "It's what we do."

Ava had busied herself with coiling up the rope, looping it over her arm as she moved closer to the tree Daryl had tied it around, but suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Rick staring down at her, his blue eyes bright in the afternoon sun.

"You, too, Ava," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for finding my little girl."

Ava smiled as she hugged him. "I'm glad she's okay."

She and Daryl took up the rear as they made their way around to the front gates, each of them happily watching the reunited family ahead. They were almost there when Daryl's elbow lightly nudged her, and she turned to look at him.

"Did a good job back there," he said, and her heart nearly exploded as she realized this was the first time he had given her a compliment. A real, honest-to-goodness compliment.

"So did you."

"He's m' brother," he said with a nod toward Rick's back. "I'd want 'im ta do th' same fer me."

She smiled. "He would."

"I know," he replied honestly, a slight grin finding his lips.

They walked through the gate, and everyone who had been worriedly waiting inside suddenly broke out into cheers. They surrounded the search party on all sides, trapping Daryl and Ava close together in the crush of people. His arms wrapped protectively around her and she allowed her body to relax against him, her forehead pressed into his shoulder. She was pretty sure she stepped on his foot when the crowd shifted to the side, but if it hurt he made no indication. She heard his voice rumble in his chest as he spoke to someone, and she looked up to see Enid there on the outside of the group, smiling as she held Chloe close. Daryl pushed himself and Ava through the mass of people until they finally broke through into empty space, then gently plucked the infant from Enid's arms and cuddled her to his chest. Ava peeked at her over his arm, chuckling when Chloe reached up to touch Daryl's goatee. She made a soft sound and smiled one of those adorable baby smiles, and Daryl's heart swelled so much it almost hurt. Ava caught Enid's gaze, and they shared a grin as they both saw the expression of pure love on the stoic hunter's face. He got that same look every time a kid was nearby, but for some reason it never ceased to amaze Ava. His demeanor was normally so gruff, it should have made children afraid of him, but it seemed to do just the opposite. Kids did not just gravitate toward him, they actually sought him out.

"Hi, baby," he murmured, dipping his nose to nuzzle against hers in an eskimo kiss. Her tiny hands suddenly grabbed his hair on either side of his face, and she tried to pull his nose into her mouth so she could suck on it, whimpering when her stomach remained empty.

Wincing in pain, he tried to untangle her fingers from his hair, but she had her fists closed tight. He'd had no idea that a baby could have such a strong grip. Those fingers looked delicate, but they had the strength of a vise. Secretly, he was proud of her; if that strength kept up by the time she was ten she'd be able to use a crossbow with no problem.

Ava watched him flail around helplessly for only a moment before stepping in. Biting down hard against a laugh, she gently pried Chloe's fingers open and took her from him. Chloe began to cry in earnest now, the hunger in her belly growing with each moment that passed.

"Enid..." Ava began, but before she could say another word the teenager pulled a bottle from her back pocket and handed it to her. She slipped the nipple into the baby's mouth and sighed out, "Thanks."

Enid looked over her shoulder at the throng of people still surrounding Rick, then back at Ava and Daryl. Smiling softly at the hunter, she said, "I knew you'd find her."

"Was Ava, found 'er," Daryl told her. "I jus' helped get 'er out."

"Well, you must be rubbing off on her, then."

He huffed a laugh and then ducked his head to hide the blush creeping up his neck and face.

"He definitely is," Ava replied with a grin.

"Stop," he grouched, then quickly retreated to Rick's side, and the two women shared a quiet chuckle.

"He's so cute when he's embarrassed," Ava said as she put Chloe against her shoulder to burp her.

Enid nodded. "It's just 'cause he doesn't know what to say. 'Cause we're the only ones who ever treated him good."

"Because _he's_ good."

"I know. But sometimes he gets this look in his eyes..." She sighed softly. "Like he's guilty even though he's never done anything."

Ava nodded, knowing exactly which look she was describing. "Daryl's seen a lot more than I think we'll ever know, Enid. He keeps it all locked up. Up here." She tapped her forehead with her free hand and frowned. "But I wish he wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because it eats away at him, and I..." She stopped, unsure of how to finish that thought.

The teenager gave her a wry grin then. "You like him."

"As a friend," Ava tried with a nonchalant shrug, but Enid was too perceptive for that.

"Uh-uh. More than that. You _love_ him."

"What makes you think...?"

"I can tell." Leaning forward, she added, "It's okay. I can tell he loves you, too."

Maggie called Enid's name then, and the girl pressed a quick kiss to Chloe's soft head before going to find out what Maggie needed.

Ava watched her walk away, her last statement echoing inside her head. She knew Daryl was physically attracted to her - her face was still tender in some spots where his goatee had given her brush burn - and she knew that he had at least cared about her enough to rescue her from Negan. But love? Was that possible?

Not that she didn't believe he was capable of love, after all she could see that emotion written all over his face every time he held Chloe in his arms. It was just that romantic love was different, filled with all kinds of dangerous connotations that she knew he usually tried to avoid, especially since the Turn when life was too precarious to entertain such close relationships. When everyone was literally one moment away from dying in any of a hundred terrible ways.

Suddenly feeling like she was being watched, she lifted her head and looked around. Straight ahead, Daryl stood facing her, and though he was still listening to Rick talking his blue eyes were locked onto her. Ava could not hide the smile that crept onto her face as she saw him watching her.

Maybe what Enid said was true.

Just maybe.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

* * *

Ava was up in the second-floor bathroom of the manor house, just finishing up combing through her wet hair after a shower. It was nice to have hot water, even if the only place at Hilltop that had it was the main house. Getting it all set up was a collaborative effort between Rick, Daryl and Eugene, with a tiny bit of help from a plumbing manual in the house's extensive library, and to say that the group was grateful was an understatement. Sure, they had to limit showers to five minutes to keep any one person from depleting the hot water tank, but it was a sacrifice worth making. Ava herself had become adept at doing everything necessary - including shaving - in that short amount of time.

Wiping her hand through the fog on the mirror, Ava looked at her reflection and frowned, noticing the ugly scar on her forehead. How in the world could Daryl think she was pretty when she carried that on her face? How could he stand to look at her? She looked like Frankenstein's monster, for God's sake.

But then, he carried scars a lot worse than the one on her head, and she wasn't repulsed by him, was she? She shook her head. Of course not. He was handsome in his ruggedness, his blue eyes standing out in sharp contrast to his hair and the dark stubble on his face. He was strong and gruff and full of repressed anger, but with her he struggled to know just what to say, his cheeks reddening as his eyes sought out every crack in the floor beneath his feet.

Ava smiled as she smoothed lotion over her arms and legs, thinking about the few minutes they'd shared before he left on the latest run. _Hard to believe it was only two days ago_ , she thought. It felt like a week.

 _He had been avoiding her the entire day, unsure how to bring it up to her that he was leaving. She had already known, however, having heard from Glenn that they were going for more supplies. Since they were talking, she asked Glenn to get some more formula or powdered milk for Chloe as they were running low. He had readily agreed, feeling bad that she had been left out of the loop by both Rick and Daryl._

 _She finally cornered Daryl in the kitchen, where he was slapping a few sandwiches together for the trio to eat on the ride. Coming up behind him and trapping him against the counter, she wrapped her arms around him and asked, "When were you going to tell me you were going with them on the run?"_

 _"Didn't wanna upset ya," he told her as he set down the butter knife he'd been using. His muscles were tense but not as much as usual, and she was suddenly aware that he had heard her coming and prepared himself accordingly. She would have already been on the floor otherwise. "Didn't think ya'd want me ta leave."_

 _"And you thought just taking off without saying anything would be better?" She asked, using her hands to turn him around to face her._

 _He shook his head, long dark hair tossed out of his eyes. "Nah. Jus'..." He stopped and sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "'M sorry. Shoulda jus' told ya."_

 _She gazed up into his face and smiled. "It's okay. I should know by now how you are."_

 _He frowned. "'S that s'posed to mean?"_

 _"That you aren't used to having someone else worry about you," she said simply._

 _"Right about that." He paused, then asked, "Ya mad?"_

 _She shook her head. "No. I don't want you to go, but you're the best at what you do." Her grin turned impish. "But since you're worried about it, I know how you can make it up to me."_

 _"Stop," he grumbled, his hips pushing hers away, and she laughed._

 _"That's not what I was gonna say, dirty bird." Her hand slipped up around his neck and she leaned up on her toes, pressing her lips lightly against his. As she sank back down onto her heels she said, "Just wanted a kiss goodbye."_

 _"Mhm," he said as he smirked down at her._

 _Glenn and Rick walked in then, and she took a step back to put some space between them. No one yet knew that they were...well, what were they? Dating? An "item"? She didn't know how to define the relationship between her and Daryl. She doubted he did, either. If he cared to define it at all. Besides that kiss and the impromptu makeout session before Judith had been lost, they had barely touched each other. Which was fine, as Ava understood that Daryl was still getting used to physical contact - the kind that wasn't full of pain and hatred. She was willing to be patient, if it meant getting to see his face almost every day._

She had just set down her hairbrush when she heard a commotion on the first floor - desperate sounding voices and heavy footsteps - and she gasped when she clearly heard someone say "bleeding pretty bad." Pulling open the bathroom door, she rushed out into the hall and looked over the balcony to see Rick and Glenn carrying an unconscious Daryl through the front door and into the entry hall. Maggie met them at the bottom of the stairs, drying her hands on a dishtowel, and Tara trailed after her. Her breath catching in her throat, Ava took the steps two at a time and then skidded to a stop in front of them.

Daryl's face was covered in dirt and blood, his sleeveless shirt hanging open on his chest, stripped of all its buttons. There were open wounds on his bare torso - what looked like knife cuts - but she breathed a sigh of relief as she did not see any deep punctures.

"What happened?" She heard Maggie ask.

"Got attacked on the road, comin' back from the run," Rick said. He also sported a few cuts on his face, and Glenn's jaw was beginning to bruise. "Never saw 'em comin'."

Glenn nodded. "He got the worst of it. He wouldn't give up the stuff we found, so they...they did this."

"Who were they?" Tara asked, but Rick shook his head.

"Never seen 'em before."

"Saviors?"

He gave his head another shake. "Doubt it. These men were..."

"Brutal," Glenn put in. "Like the Wolves, but..."

"Come with me," Maggie said then, her tone clipped but her eyes full of worry. She led them into a bedroom at the back of the house, a freshly-made bed set against the far wall. Stripping back the comforter to expose crisp white sheets, she gestured for the men to lay him down. They got him onto the bed with little trouble, and as Tara hurried off to gather supplies Glenn immediately began pulling off the hunter's boots. Rick pulled his hands out from under Daryl's back and then gasped as he saw they were covered in blood.

"Turn 'im over," Maggie instructed, and together the two men did as she asked, gently laying him on his stomach. "Glenn, go get me towels from the bathroom upstairs."

"How many?"

"All of 'em."

Glenn left the room, and she turned to Rick. "Help me get his shirt off."

Rick managed to peel Daryl's shirt off his arms, wincing when it stuck to the tacky blood on his back. Ava gently turned Daryl's head to the side so he wouldn't suffocate, then pushed his hair away from his face. Dried blood was caked in his goatee, having run down from his nose to his chin, and his right eye was beginning to swell shut. Glenn returned a few moments later, his arms laden with at least a dozen towels, all white. Ava grimaced. After this, they wouldn't be.

"Ava, I need your hands," Maggie said then, and she looked up at the brunette's face. Her blue eyes were watching Ava carefully, as if she worried she might faint, so Ava shook her hair out of her face and held her hands out, palms up. "Take this towel and hold it here," Maggie directed, pointing to a nasty-looking gash on Daryl's back, near the bottom of his shoulder blade. "Rick, run and get Carson."

"He's not here," Rick told her, his blue eyes wide. "That's why we came straight to the house."

"What do ya mean, he's not here?" She questioned him. "Where'd he go?"

He and Glenn both shrugged, and she glared at them for only a moment before blowing out a sigh. Pushing her bangs back from her forehead, she said, "Okay. Guess we'll just have to do it, then."

"Do what?" Ava asked, though she already had a good guess. The blood-soaked towel under her hands gave her an idea of what was coming next.

"Stitch 'im up."

"Are you sure?"

Maggie nodded. "Haven't done it in a bit, but if we don't do anything he'll bleed out, or at least get a nasty infection, and we're runnin' low on antibiotics."

"What do you need me to do?" Rick asked her then.

She gave him a small smile. "Hold 'im down. I don't have anything to knock him out with, so if he wakes up..."

"You got it."

"Glenn?"

He stepped forward and nodded solemnly. "Babe."

"Sewing kit and fishing line, in the library."

Without a word, he hurried out of the room, and then Ava asked, "What about me?"

"You can hand me whatever I ask for," Maggie told her. "Like an OR nurse."

"Blood looks darker," Rick noted then. "That normal?"

Maggie shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. Dad was the one to always..." she trailed off helplessly. She missed her father dearly most days, but especially during times like this. "All we can do is pray none of his major organs are damaged. Might need a transfusion afterward, with all this blood loss."

Both Glenn and Tara appeared in the doorway then. Glenn gestured for Tara to go first, but she shook her head and gave him a short push forward with her elbow. First handing Maggie a spool of fishing line and her sewing kit, Glenn then piled more towels on the foot of the bed as Tara unloaded her arms onto a nearby table. She had managed to find a bottle of peroxide and another of rubbing alcohol, and beside them she set a roll of gauze and a few packages of medical tape. A pile of rags finished out her inventory, each one folded neatly into a six-inch square. As Maggie cut a length of fishing line and began threading an upholstery needle, Ava immediately reached for a rag and the bottle of peroxide. Dousing the rag with the clear liquid, she set the bottle back down and wiped Daryl's face, pressing slightly harder to scrub the blood out of his facial hair.

Finished with that task, she was about to throw down the rag when Maggie said, "Can't see through all this mess on 'is back. Gonna have to wipe some of it up so I know what I'm sewing."

Ava nodded and moved over his back, the rag hovering just above his skin as she tried to decide where to start. There was a copious amount of blood from just the one wound, and she worried that whatever weapon he'd been stabbed with had severed an artery.

Maggie's hand closed around her wrist and guided her to his left shoulder, and she smiled apologetically as she hoped she hadn't paused too long. "Start there and wipe down. There's more towels if you need."

After two passes from his shoulder to his waist, her rag was useless. As she tossed it onto the floor where it landed with a wet splat, Rick silently handed her a towel and she thanked him with a nod. She wiped cautiously around the open wound, careful not to disturb the ragged skin too much. As soon as Ava had cleaned it enough, Maggie picked up the bottle of peroxide and held it over Daryl's back.

Looking to Rick first, then Glenn, she said, "You're gonna wanna hold him now. This is gonna hurt and it might be enough to wake 'im right up."

"We got 'im," Rick told her as he and Glenn moved toward each side of the headboard. Rick glanced over at the younger man and nodded, and as one they reached down and put one hand on each shoulder, the other one placed further down his arm on each bicep. When they were ready, Rick looked back at Maggie. "Do it."

Heaving in a breath to steady herself, she tipped the bottle up and poured the peroxide over the wound, watching the edges foam pink as it mixed with his blood, bubbles hissing as they hit the air and popped en masse. Daryl's back muscles first twitched and then spasmed, his hips twisting from one side to the other in an attempt to escape whatever was causing him pain. He groaned loudly, his consciousness returning to him more slowly than they had guessed it would, but when Maggie doused him again with the peroxide he suddenly came fully awake, shouting as he tried to pull himself out of the men's hands. He sounded like a wounded animal, caught in a trap and desperate to find a way out.

"Daryl, it's us," Rick said over his thrashing and unintelligible cries. "We're just tryin' to help ya."

"We need to sew you up," Glenn put in. "You got hurt pretty bad."

"Lemme go," he growled, his eyes still shut tight, and Ava could tell that he hadn't yet realized where he was. Though he was fully conscious he was most definitely disconcerted and possibly concussed; he probably thought he had been captured by those who had beaten him, and was now being tortured for information. "Stop!"

Wrapping her hand around his wrist, Ava gestured for Rick to shift slightly to the side, then put her knee on the bed and leaned down so she could see the injured man's face. "Daryl," she called softly, "Daryl, look at me."

Recognizing her voice at once, he opened his eyes to see her staring back at him. "Ava," he croaked, and she nodded.

"It's me," she affirmed. "You're hurt. Maggie's trying to help, but you need to stay still."

"How...?"

"You're back at Hilltop. Rick and Glenn brought you."

Understanding dawned in his pain-hazed blue eyes. His eyelids sluggishly blinking once, he said, "Jumped us on th' road. Bastards got me in the back."

She nodded again. "I know. But you're safe now. We're all here with you."

"Hurts like a bitch."

Feeling sorry for him, Ava lightly stroked his hair before removing herself from the bed to stand beside Maggie once more. "Sorry," she said genuinely. "It'll be over soon."

Maggie met Rick's eyes above him, and he gave her the silent okay to keep going. Fearing a repeat of before, she leaned down a little and touched Daryl's lower back with only her fingertips. His skin twitched slightly, but he remained still as she said, "I'm gonna start stitchin', okay?"

Daryl's head moved against the stark white sheets. "'M good."

She glanced at the two men holding him. "Ya'll can let go. Right, Daryl?"

He nodded again. Rick and Glenn exchanged a look, but then slowly released his arms and stood up. They remained nearby, however, just in case.

Twenty minutes later, Maggie was finished putting in the stitches, and she stood up and put her hands on her back, stretching muscles that ached from being bent over so long. She blew her bangs out of her face and gazed down to admire her work.

"Not bad for bein' rusty," she said, and beside her Ava nodded.

"Looks better than mine, and a doctor put _them_ in."

"Daryl, can you turn over?" Maggie asked him.

"Yeah," he muttered, already putting his hands flat on the mattress. He tried to push himself up but the wound pulled too much and he collapsed. With a grunt he tried again, his arms shaking with the effort of holding back a cry of pain. Without a word, Rick reached down and helped him, grasping his arm and lifting until he was on his side, then lightly pushing Daryl's weight over so he rolled onto his back. Daryl hissed as the stitches rubbed against the sheets beneath him, but then gave Rick a grateful look that he returned with a nod.

"I'm gonna clean these up," Maggie said as she took inventory of the shallow cuts on his torso, "and then bandage some of the bigger ones."

Daryl nodded at her. "Gonna look stupid. Guess I deserve it."

Not sure what to say, Maggie ducked her head and got to work, first cleaning the wounds and then taping pieces of folded gauze over them.

"No, you don't," Rick told him. "You were just..."

"Shoulda just gave 'em our stuff," Daryl argued hotly. Then, seeming to grow tired, he let his head fall back on the mattress and shut his eyes.

"You know as well as I do that wouldn't have stopped 'em from doin' this," Rick replied, his voice even. "In fact, if those walkers hadn't come out and attacked, they probably would've killed all of us."

"Rick's right," Glenn put in. "They would've killed us, even if we did turn over the supplies."

"Don't matter, anyway," Daryl muttered. "Lost it all on the road when they knocked me out."

Rick shrugged lightly. "We'll go out again."

"Ain't gonna be a while. Damn shoulder hurts too much, can't use m' bow."

Casting a glance at Glenn, Rick winced. He really couldn't argue that point, but he had another idea on how to get the supplies they'd lost. One that he would discuss with Maggie's husband when Daryl wasn't around.

Tossing a wad of bloody gauze on the floor beside the used rags and towels, Maggie stood up and again stretched her back, and Glenn silently resolved to give her a massage later. "Well, I've done what I can," she said with a sigh. "I'll change the bandages in a few hours, make sure there's no infection."

"He lost a lot of blood," Ava reminded her. "Is he gonna need a transfusion?"

Maggie shook her head. "Thankfully, Daryl was in good shape before this. With a little extra food and rest, he should be able to make the volume back up in a few days. But," she looked pointedly at the man lying in the bed, "he shouldn't try to do anything more strenuous than getting up to use the bathroom or take a shower for at least a week."

He blew out a sigh and muttered something under his breath, and Maggie patted his leg. "Let Ava get you something to eat, then take a nap."

"Ain't hungry," he replied.

Maggie pinned him with a look. She knew the real reason he resisted was that he was not used to relying on another person for anything, but he needed to get used to it, and quick. "You better be, if you ever wanna get outta that bed."

He shrugged, submitting to her silent challenge. Maggie was one of the only people he was afraid of, not because she looked tough but because he knew that she meant what she said. If he didn't eat, she would find a way to tie him down until he did. "Guess I could have a lil somethin'."

Ava looked at Maggie and grinned. "I'll go see what we've got."

"No," Rick said, raising his hand to stop her. "You stay here with 'im. I'll go."

"It's no trouble..." she began, but he shook his head.

"Stay."

She looked at Daryl and saw that he, too, wanted her to stay, though he would never say so aloud. She let her shoulders droop and nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Rick."

He left the room, but only after sending a look to Glenn, who kissed Maggie and said, "Good job, babe," before he followed the former sheriff out into the hall.

"You go get off your feet," Tara told Maggie, nodding at her growing belly. "I'll clean all this up."

Maggie smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you."

The dark-haired girl shrugged. "No bigs."

Maggie left, and Tara set to work cleaning up all the bloody rags and such that had been discarded, collecting them in a plastic bag. She would later take them outside to the burn pit and dump them in, minus the bag, of course. While she mopped up the smears of blood on the floor, Ava helped Daryl sit up, then propped an extra pillow behind him to take the pressure off his back.

"Well, that should do it," Tara said as she stood up straight, hefting the bag over her shoulder like Santa Claus. She gave them a jaunty wave and headed for the door. "Later."

"Thank you, Tara," Ava said as she left.

Rick came back a short time later, stopping in just long enough to set down a tray containing a bowl of rabbit and potato stew, a few slices of freshly baked bread and a glass of water. A small paper cup was also squeezed onto the tray by the water, and inside were two white pills and a larger pink one. _Antibiotic_ , Ava guessed as she passed the cup to Daryl and watched him toss all three pills into his mouth and then swallow them dry. She handed him the water and stared meaningfully at it until he rolled his eyes and chugged it down in three gulps, then gave the empty glass back to her.

Ava sat silently beside him as he ate. It took him a few minutes, but finally he let his spoon fall back into his bowl with a sharp clatter and eyed her suspiciously.

"Ain't ya gonna say nothin'?" He asked.

She shook her head.

"Why not?"

At length, she got up and turned around, then sat back down so she was facing him. "Figured you'd enjoy the silence," she told him.

"I do," he said. " _You_ don't."

"Who says I don't?" Before he could answer, she sighed and asked, "Do you really want me to say the things you think I'm gonna say?"

He just looked at her, unsure if she were trying to trap him.

"Because I happen to agree with Rick."

"Made a promise," he said then, and she must have given him a puzzled look as he shifted uncomfortably and then softly added, "Can't protect Chloe if I'm dead."

"Daryl..."

"Stupid, ta go and get m'self stabbed over supplies."

"Daryl, stop," she said, putting her hands on either side of his face. "It's done. You're here and you're safe. That's all that matters."

"'M sorry. I lost everythin'."

"It's okay. And you didn't lose everything. Supplies can be replaced. _You_ can't."

He nodded silently and looked down into his stew as if contemplating taking another bite. Suddenly his head whipped back up and he asked, "Where's Chloe?"

"She's with Enid and Judith. She's fine," Ava assured him.

He set the bowl back on the tray, which sat on the bedside table, and then started to push himself upright. Ava put her hand on his chest, careful to avoid the half-dozen bandages pasted there, and asked, "Where are you going?"

"Gotta talk ta Rick. Make sure we weren't followed."

"Daryl, no. You heard Maggie..."

"Ain't gonna matter if they attack this place!" He cried, grabbing hold of her wrists and prying her hands off him.

"Please!" Ava begged, snagging him by the waistband of his jeans as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He shook his head and launched himself to his feet, and her heart jumped into her throat as she saw his face pale and his body sway forward and then back. "Have ta...keep ya'll safe."

Ava got up and hurried around the other side of the bed just in time to catch him as his knees buckled. She was not strong enough to keep him upright, so she put her head under his arm and used her weight to gently guide him to sit on the floor.

Rick must have heard Daryl shouting, as he rushed into the room and immediately reached down to help Ava get him back onto the bed.

"What're ya doin', Daryl? Tryin' to kill yourself?" He asked, but his tone was less angry and more confused.

"Those assholes..." Daryl gasped, already out of breath from just that small bit of exertion. "They coulda followed..."

Rick shook his dark head. "The walker mob got 'em. Remember?"

"That's how you got away," Ava put in, shooting a look of worry at the former sheriff.

Daryl's eyes shifted between them, and then his gaze widened and he nodded. "Right. Walkers."

"It's probably just the knock you got on yer head," Rick told him. Slowly releasing his grip on the injured hunter, he said, "Just relax, okay? We got things handled."

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, though his body remained rigid where he lay, as if ready to spring up again at a moment's notice. He hated laying around. He felt useless, not being able to hunt or help out around the town. He refused to be useless. He'd been told he was so, ever since he was old enough to remember, and he needed to prove them all wrong.

He needed to prove that he wasn't useless.

That he was needed.

That he was wanted.

Tears burned in his eyes, but he slung his arm over his eyes to hide them, under the guise of trying to keep the sunlight from blinding him.

Ava got up and went to the window, then pulled down the shade before returning to her place beside Daryl. Her hand slipped over his to twine their fingers together, and she squeezed it just once as she said, "Thanks, Rick. I think he'll behave from now on."

Rick's smile was genuine. "Glad I could help."

When he had gone, Ava continued to sit with Daryl, the fingers of her free hand lightly tracing patterns on his forearm. Though it irritated him, that constant motion over his skin, he let her do it. He knew she was trying to soothe him, and he could not bear the thought of hurting her feelings by telling her to stop. Still, it was starting to set his teeth on edge...

"C'mere," he finally said, gesturing with his other arm for her to lie down beside him.

Ava shifted herself downward slightly so that her head was on the pillow, then lay on her back next to him.

"On yer side," he said, and as she sighed and turned onto her side he draped his arm across her waist. Huffing out a sigh of his own, he slowly let his arm relax and closed his eyes, and Ava silently puzzled over this latest development. She liked it, of course, but she wondered if it was the close call he'd had or something else that had him stepping - or laying, as it were - outside his comfort zone.

She heard him start to drift off to sleep, his breath evening out and slowing down, but a few moments later his muscles all tensed involuntarily and he jerked awake. She bit back a cry as his fingers dug painfully into her hip, knowing that if she let him know he hurt her he would punish himself mentally for hours, if not longer.

"Shh," she soothed him, her hand covering his. "You're okay."

He did not pull away. In fact, his fingers pushed again into her side, but only in an attempt to pull her closer to himself. She obliged, scooting backward until her back was against his chest. His arm wrapped around her torso as he buried his face into her hair, his lips a gentle pressure against her neck behind her ear, and she cursed his many injuries. It felt good, laying like this, and she wished there could be more.

"Thanks," he softly said, and she nodded, feeling her hair catch in his beard. "Need th' extra support."

She wondered what the others would think if they found them like this. Daryl wasn't usually the kind to seek out affection, only giving it when he felt it was expected of him. Would they think she was using this as an excuse to get closer to him?

"Stop," he muttered into her hair, and she smiled as she realized he'd "heard" her thinking again.

"Sorry," she said.

He fell asleep faster this time, and even though his body jerked a few times he stayed asleep, clinging to Ava as if she were a lifeline in a churning ocean.

* * *

 _TBC..._


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

* * *

There was warmth beside him when he awoke, and he made a happy sound in his throat and was about to snuggle closer when he suddenly caught a strange scent - not the floral shampoo Ava used but one like fresh linen, or talcum powder. It was not Ava lying there beside him. Slowly opening his eyes as much as he could with one swollen and blackened, he peered down and saw Chloe cuddled in the crook of his arm, her dark eyes looking back up at him.

"Hey," he murmured, moving slightly to nuzzle her curly hair. "How'd ya get here?"

Cooing softly at him, she reached up and swiped at his beard with her tiny fingers, and he couldn't resist smiling in response. A footstep sounded at the doorway, and he looked up to see Enid standing there.

"Ava said you were asking for her yesterday."

He nodded. "Time is it?"

"Seven."

"'S dark outside," he noted with a glance at the window.

Enid grinned. "Seven pm."

He frowned. "I slept a whole _day_?"

"Yeah. Didn't even move when Maggie changed your bandages." He looked like he was going to get up, so she took a step forward and hurriedly said, "Ava will be here in just a minute. She went to get you some food."

He sighed. "Ain't gonna go nowhere. Just need ta take a..." He caught himself and instead said, "Use the head."

"Oh." She nodded in understanding. "You want me to get Rick or Aaron to help you?"

"No," he growled a little more harshly than he meant to. "I can manage."

She seemed skeptical but only leaned down to lift Chloe, to allow him room to get up. Daryl slowly sat up, wincing as his wound pulled painfully at his shoulder, but then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He found a clean t-shirt hanging on the bedpost and carefully slipped it on, stifling a string of curses as he needed to move his arms a lot. He used the corner post of the headboard to pull himself to his feet, this time making sure his legs would support him before he let go. When he remained upright, he shuffled on bare feet across the floor and around the bed, congratulating himself with every step. Cradling Chloe in her arms, Enid led the way out of the room, checking over her shoulder every few feet to ensure he was still following her. He frowned, but made no comment. She was only looking out for him, and though he felt like a damn invalid he gritted his teeth and let her lead him down the hall to the bathroom.

Stopping in front of the door, she paused and bit her lower lip, her eyes suddenly finding a spot on the carpet very interesting. "You want me to wait for you? I could..."

"Nah," he said with a short shake of his head. "Be fine from here."

Relief washed over her features. "Okay." Chloe began to squall in her arms, and she gave him a lopsided grin. "Guess she's hungry. I'll feed her and bring her back after, if you want."

"Mhm." She walked away, but before she disappeared around the corner, Daryl called after her, "Enid. Thanks."

She nodded. "Welcome."

It took a few minutes longer than he was used to, but finally he finished up in the bathroom and was drying his hands on the towel hanging beside the sink when there was a knock at the door. _Geez_ , he thought, _give a guy a minute, would ya?_

Rather than answer, he simply pulled open the door and came face-to-face with Ava, who had braided her long hair down her back and tied it with a black ribbon. A few wisps had come loose, the curls framing her face, and her cheeks were pleasantly flushed. By the smudge of dirt on her forehead, he guessed she had been working outside earlier today.

"You okay?" She asked. "Enid told me you were in here."

"Fine," he assured her, though he hid how tired he was by leaning his shoulder against the door frame and using it to hold him mostly upright. Thankfully, the dizziness he had experienced while relieving himself had long since passed.

She gave him a look, but let the subject drop. "Well," she said as she waited for him to step out into the hall, "I made you a plate. You can eat it in bed."

He shook his head. "Been layin' round long 'nough."

"Daryl," she sighed, ready to launch into an argument.

"Gonna eat with ev'ryone else. In the dinin' room."

She opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again. His eyes regarded her with a plaintive look, and she knew that this thing, as small as it was, was important to him. Nodding, she took his hand and walked beside him, engaging him in small talk about the planting she had been doing that evening while he had been sleeping. He tried to listen, he really did, but most of his concentration was on making sure he didn't trip over his own feet.

"...But I think the tomatoes will be awesome for canning," she said as they stepped into the large room.

He nodded. "'M sure they'll do fine."

Almost everyone else was already there at the table, talking amongst themselves, but when the couple arrived all conversation suddenly died out. Ava felt Daryl's arm tense up as he prepared to turn around and leave, but she gripped his hand tightly to hold him in place.

Rick was the first to speak, as usual. "Didn't expect to see ya up and about so soon," he said with a good-natured smile.

"Wanted ta eat as a fam'ly," Daryl replied simply.

His answer seemed to be the correct one, as the leader bobbed his head happily. "Well, come on, then. Gonna need two extra chairs..."

"I'll get 'em," Rosita offered, already jumping up from her seat to fetch them. She was back a few moments later with two folding chairs, and after the others did a little shuffling to make room she set them down to Rick's right. Daryl took the one closest to the former sheriff, and Ava sat beside him. Enid came in leading Judith by the hand, her other arm occupied by Chloe who was dressed in a frilly pink outfit and matching booties. Judith immediately broke free of her babysitter's grasp and ran straight for her favorite uncle, her arms held out as she cried out his name. Before anyone could catch her, she wrapped him in a hug and buried her face against him, and he gasped sharply as his bruised chest protested the sudden jolt.

"Judith," Rick began, but Daryl just shook his head.

"'S okay," he told him. "She don't know." He moved to lift her onto his lap but stopped when he felt his stitches pull hard against the motion. He bit back against a curse, and Judith looked up at him in confusion, thinking she had done something wrong. Smiling down at her, he said, "Uncle Daryl's a little hurt. Gonna take a minute."

"Boo-boo?" She asked, pointing to his blackened right eye.

"Yeah," he replied, ducking his head shyly as he repeated, "boo-boo."

Wordlessly, Rick got up and lifted Judith, then deposited her on Daryl's lap. He didn't miss the grateful look Daryl sent him as he sat back down, and he nodded in return.

"I help," Judith said then, and leaned forward to press her lips gently against his eye. When she pulled back, she asked, "All better?"

Daryl nodded. "All better," he said around the lump forming in his throat. When he saw everyone staring at him, he scowled and asked, "We gonna eat or what?"

Maggie schooled her features and nodded. "Of course. Who wants to say grace?"

There was a long silence, and then a voice softly said, "I will."

All heads turned to the other end of the table. Enid blushed at the sudden attention, lowering her eyes to the baby in her arms. She let Chloe grasp her pinky finger, smiling when the baby yawned and then cooed happily.

She understood why everyone was surprised. After Carl had died, she had withdrawn into herself, content to be a part of the group but unable to fully immerse herself into it. She helped out with the young ones to free up the adults to make the important decisions and handle any crises that arose, and she took her turns at guard duty. She had loved the boy with shaggy hair and one eye, and losing him had left a wound in her heart, deeper than his family's love could fill.

Or so she had thought.

Maggie smiled at her and nodded. "Go ahead, then."

Enid shut her eyes. Her chest felt tight, knowing everyone was listening to her, but she took a steadying breath and then began. "Bless this food, and bless everyone at this table. Thank you for giving us the means to provide for this meal, and for all those that come after. Thank you for bringing Rick and Glenn and Daryl home, and for giving Maggie the wisdom to help Daryl heal. Help him get better soon."

Daryl's eyes flew open in surprise, only to see Ava's hand reach over and cover his. He blinked back tears. Never before had he heard anyone pray for him. Not even Merle, and he'd gone to church at least once a month.

"Thank you for all our friends at the Kingdom, and anywhere else we meet them," he heard Enid continue. "Bless this night and keep us all safe. Amen."

"Amen," the others echoed, and then the meal began, with people passing platters and serving dishes back and forth across the table. Maggie whispered to Enid that she had done a good job, and Glenn nodded his agreement. Daryl sat still, his eyes focused on Judith's golden hair though his mind was miles away, in a trailer park in the mountains of Georgia.

Ava looked over at him and saw his expression. Nudging him lightly with her shoulder, she asked, "You okay?"

He blinked and looked up at her through his bangs. "Hmm? Oh. Yeah." He surveyed the table then and asked, "Pass the beans?"

She picked up the bowl, but rather than giving it to him she spooned up a healthy portion and put it on his plate. When he eyed her, she shrugged and said, "You got Judith. What else would you like?"

They both knew the real reason she was serving him, and he would put money that everyone else did too, but he remained silent on the subject. His pride was already damaged enough, and anyway he _did_ have his hands full with the toddler, who was now reaching down and stealing his beans one at a time, giggling as she popped them into her mouth. He played along, pretending not to notice until the spot where they had been was empty, and then he gasped and pointed at his plate. Judith squealed out a laugh and collapsed against him, and he chuckled deep in his chest.

"Guess I need more beans," he told Ava. "Don't care what else, long 's it's food."

She snorted as she refilled his serving of beans and then added a few more things to his plate. "Better hurry, before Little Miss Piggy eats it on you."

"I've got her plate," Maggie said as she held out a smaller dish. Smiling at the toddler, she added, "With extra beans."

Judith clapped her hands and jumped down from Daryl's lap, then ran around the table and climbed into Maggie's. She immediately dug in, grabbing fistfuls of food and shoving them into her mouth.

"So, how're ya feelin'?" Rick asked Daryl, who shrugged and speared a chunk of potato with his fork.

"Be alright." He lifted his head in a nod toward Rick's own face. "'Bout you?"

"I'm good."

Daryl nodded. "Good," he said around his bite of food. Then, looking down at his plate, he said, "Guess I should thank ya. All of ya."

"No need. We take care of family."

"That's right," Maggie said with a smile.

"But I messed up."

Rick set down his fork. "You didn't. You were just lookin' out for us." Before Daryl could argue further, he shook his head and said, "You've always been there when we needed you, Daryl. You helped get my little girl out of that well. You've saved our lives more times than we can count. I - we - can never repay you for what you've done."

Daryl's cheeks blushed as he stared down at his hands. Rick reached out and gently laid his hand on the hunter's shoulder.

"Nothing else matters but that you're here," Rick said softly, and Daryl could only nod, his hair thankfully hiding the tears blurring his eyes.

Ava reached under the table and covered his hand with her own, but a moment later he flipped his palm over so he could slip his fingers between hers. Squeezing softly, he briefly caught her gaze and then lifted a corner of his lips in a grateful smile, and she returned it with one of her own.

As he ate, he listened to everyone else as they chatted about all the recent events at Hilltop. Rosita and Glenn discussed ways to continue fortifying the wall, and Rick and Maggie worked out a plan for voting in a new council, like they'd had at the prison. Ava, Enid and Tara moved between topics - first brainstorming on a tentative schedule for a new watch rotation, then talking about the garden and which fruits and vegetables would be suitable for canning or dehydrating. They also spent plenty of time doting on Chloe, sighing over her adorable outfit and how her face was changing. Daryl looked over at her when they said that, but he couldn't see anything different about her features. She still looked exactly the same as when they'd got her. Sure, her body was bigger now, but that was all. She looked a lot like her mama, he thought as he remembered the face in the locket. He was sorry her real family was gone, taken by this plague, but he hoped that when she grew up she would be glad to have this group as her family instead. He wanted to tell her all about how they found her, how he and Ava took care of her - with everyone else's help, of course - and he wanted to teach her all the things he'd learned since meeting this cobbled-together group of people he loved more than anything.

If he lived long enough, that was.

He'd come close, this time. He could feel it in how tired his body was, his sheer force of will the only thing keeping him upright in this uncomfortable chair. He could feel the stitches in his back pulling against his skin, aching almost as badly as when he'd been shot by Dwight. Every fiber of him was screaming, begging him to go and lie down, but he stubbornly refused. He needed to be with everyone, to hear them talking and laughing, and even if he didn't join in it helped him to know they were there. This was healing, this closeness he had never felt until meeting Rick and the others. Maybe not for his body, but definitely for his mind.

He looked over at Ava, who was leaned over to the right as she shared a joke with Tara, and felt his heart do a weird flip in his chest. Never before had he experienced that feeling, not even in his teen years when girls were all he seemed to think about. _Love, Daryl,_ Carol's voice told him, and his chest tightened even more. _What you're feeling there? You love her._

He couldn't deny it if he tried. From the moment he'd saved Ava from Negan's men he'd felt a fierce need to protect her. He spent hours while he was out on hunting trips thinking of ways to get her to smile, to see her beautiful eyes light up for him. Just for him. She was so good with everyone here, had fit right in like she was meant to be here, and she took care of him even when he didn't want her to. She was able to sense when he was having a bad day, and knew when to draw close as well as when to leave him alone. He was working on not pushing away when he felt the world closing in on him, but it was a process, and he was grateful that she was so patient with him.

He remembered a question Abraham had asked him once, when they were meeting the people at Hilltop what seemed like ages ago. Standing in the foyer of the main house, Abe had turned to Daryl and asked, "You ever think about it? Settling down?"

In usual Dixon fashion, Daryl had growled back, "Ya think shit's settled?"

But honestly, he _had_ thought about it. There were a few issues with this, firstly that there needed to be a woman who was also thinking about it. And she also had to at least tolerate being with him. So far, he had not found one who was interested in that venture, and he couldn't blame them. Who in their right mind would want to be with a moody, damaged redneck who spent more time in the woods than a foraging bear? Who would put up with his constant nightmares, his inability to discuss his emotions?

He looked beside him again.

 _Would she?_ he wondered. Would she stick with him even when shit got tough and he tried to hide inside himself, to push her away? Or, would she get tired of that after a while and leave him, find someone who was easier to love?

Ava saw him looking at her out of the corner of her eye and turned her face to stare back at him. She blushed at his open appraisal of her, but to her credit she did not drop her gaze, and he knew then that if he asked her those questions, what her answers would be.

"'S a nice bow you got, Ava," Rick said then. "Saw ya out there earlier, practicin'. Where'd ya pick that up?"

Ava beamed proudly. "Daryl made it for me. It's really nice, has a smooth let-off and the draw weight is just right."

Rick's eyes widened as he looked at Daryl, who softly explained, "She wanted ta learn, and we ain't got any, so..."

The former sheriff tucked his lips inward to hide a grin. Nodding in understanding, he merely said, "Oh."

Daryl caught the choked-off quality to his voice, as if he were trying not to laugh, and he scowled. "Some'n funny?"

Rick immediately shook his head. "No. No, I just...it was a nice gesture."

"'Cuz it's not like I woulda done different fer anyone else."

"I know that," Rick affirmed.

"So why ya lookin' at me like that, then?"

"Because," a voice said from the doorway, "he thinks you've got a thing for Ava. Which is probably true, by the way."

All eyes looked up to see Carol standing there, a leather satchel hung diagonally across her chest. She was smiling, tears sparkling in her bright blue eyes, and Maggie almost fell over her chair in her hurry to give the older woman a hug.

"It's so good to see you!" Maggie said as they embraced, and Carol laughed musically.

"Look at you!" She gasped, taking in the sight of Maggie's pregnant belly. "You're ready to pop!"

Forgetting his recent blood loss, Daryl pushed himself to his feet to go to her, but the sudden change of position left him lightheaded and he nearly tipped over. Ava stood up and grabbed onto him before he could, one arm around his back and the other holding his elbow to support him. She held him until the dizziness passed, then wordlessly stepped back so he could move around the table, and just that simple gesture proved to him how much she cared about him.

When he finally stood in front of Carol and she saw his bruised face, she seemed ready to cry again, though now for a whole different reason. Her hands came up and hovered on either side of his face, then gently laid on his cheeks.

"What happened?" She asked him, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Met some trouble on th' road. 'M good."

Overcome with emotion, she pulled him into a hug that he readily returned, his arms around her back while hers looped around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder. "Missed you," she murmured into his shirt. "So much."

"Me too," he replied.

When they finally separated, she turned to see Rick waiting for his turn. Smiling, she obliged him.

"This is quite a surprise," he told her. "Haven't seen or heard from the Kingdom in a while."

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "We've been a little preoccupied lately. Besides, it works both ways, y'know."

Maggie chuckled. "Got a point. So, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Carol's features fell, and she nervously gripped the strap of her messenger bag. First looking to Maggie and then Daryl, she said, "I wish it was good news." Her eyes flickered to Rick's face. "Remember the flu at the prison?"

Rick nodded. "We lost some good people to it. Almost lost some more."

"I'm not sure if that's what's going on, but..." She took a breath to gather herself and again locked eyes with Daryl. "People are dying left and right, and we're already down a fifth of the population."

"Ya have a doctor, don't ya?" Daryl asked.

She nodded. "We do. But he was one of the first infected. But it gets worse."

"Go ahead," Rick said, laying a hand on her shoulder. He was having a hard time believing it could get any worse. What she'd said was a literal nightmare.

"The King is sick, too, and it's not looking good." Tears filled her eyes, and Daryl reached out and took her hand to comfort her. "If he doesn't make it...Rick, the Kingdom is in danger of falling."


End file.
